Mother
by xeyes
Summary: Post SH4, post “Mother” ending. Even after all is over, those that remain have a heavy price to pay. Spoilers for SH4 and SH2; M for usual SH themes and mental mayhem. Three chapters this time...sometimes, the answer can be worse than the question.
1. Back from the Hospital

**A/N: Yet more Tortured!Henry here. I really do put the poor guy through the wringer, don't I? (There's a touch of Tortured!Eileen as well, for fairness' sake.) This was begun, appropriately enough, on Mother's Day, 2006, but I haven't put it up until now because of the two stories that precede it. Although it follows from "Four Nightmares" and "The Hand and the Cloth", you don't have to have read them to follow this one, but you do need to be familiar with Silent Hill 4's "Mother" ending.**

**This story will earn its "M" rating in a couple of the early chapters, for mentally unhygienic practices. If that sort of thing bothers you, you might not wish to read. Chapter lengths may be irregular, as may be update timing.**

**Standard disclaimers apply, as always. I don't own Henry, Eileen, or anything of Konami's, and I don't make any money off of it. I'm just a fan, folks.**

* * *

"Well, I guess I can go back to South Ashfield Heights now…" 

Eileen beamed up at Henry from her hospital bed, and he nodded back. She could just make out a small smile there, too. Just a small one, and easily missed. Still, it was the first she'd seen from him since…well, she wasn't sure when, but it had been a while.

_There wasn't a lot to smile about down there._

Hers stretched into a full-fledged happy grin. "Henry, I can't believe we're out of there. Really out of there."

Was he relieved too? Probably. Had to be. But with Henry, it was hard to tell.

"Same here." He fidgeted a little, shifting his shoulder.

"You going to be OK?" she asked, nodding toward the bandage under his sleeve.

He shrugged. "Should be. The bullet went through cleanly. Didn't hit anything important."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Uh…don't know. Probably get a sandwich downstairs or something."

The corner of her mouth twitched.

"I mean, after that."

"I'm not sure," he said. "Haven't really thought about it."

_Well, there's time enough for that now. No rush, right?_

The fresh scent of the little bouquet in her lap wafted past her nostrils. The flower were a bright splash of color in the room, red and pink. The same colors as blood, both new and faded, but this was different…so healthy and alive. So different from where they'd been, what they'd seen. It was real, and this room was real, and best of all, so was he.

He lowered himself onto the stool next to her bed. She reached forward, and he took her hand. It was large and warm, just as it had always been. It was a familiar comfort now, and it made her feel so safe...

"Two more days and I'm outta here," she said. "Thank God. I feel fine now, but they won't let me leave."

"You almost died down there. You need the rest."

"Yeah. And so do you." She squeezed his hand. He shrugged dismissively, but she didn't press the point.

"I'll be glad when they let me out of here," she said as she looked around the bright little room. "This place still gives me the creeps, even though that's all over with now."

"Yeah. Same here."

An awkward silence fell. Henry turned toward the bright sunlight streaming through the window, and then his thumb was absently stroking the back of her hand as it lay in his. It felt good, and she closed her eyes and relaxed into it.

_That's Henry. He's always taking care of me, even now. _

The room was quiet but for the low hums of the electronic monitors and their own breathing. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it still felt a little weird.

_Now that it's all over, it would be dumb if we couldn't think of anything to say to each other. Really dumb._

"Your room," she said after a minute or so.

"Hm?"

"Are you OK to go back there? I mean, you were stuck in there for days, right?"

The thumb on her hand stopped moving.

"Because if you're not, you can crash at my place. Remember?"

"No, I should be OK. Things should be back to normal now…and I have a few things to take care of there, anyway."

"Anytime. I mean that."

He nodded. "Thanks." He really seemed to mean it. _As if saving my life more times than I can count didn't earn you a place to crash. At least._

The nurse on duty poked her head in the door. "Visiting hours are up," she said. She smiled at their clasped hands, and closed the door behind her.

"Damn," she said.

He squeezed her hand. "You should rest, anyway."

"When I get out of here…let's get dinner or something," she said. "Remember? I'm supposed to be taking you to Fuseli's."

"Yeah."

He got to his feet and stood there for a second or two, looking down at her.

"You OK?" she asked.

"Yeah. Uh...take care of yourself."

"You too," she called as the door closed behind him.

* * *

One unexpected benefit of Eileen's forced time at St. Jerome's was the idleness. She'd been put into a single room, so she didn't have anyone to talk to. She didn't have the patience for TV, not then, and she couldn't concentrate on anything she tried to read. There wasn't much else to do. 

So, after Henry left that afternoon, she rested in bed and gazed out of the window at the summer sun, and let it all just wash over her. She was in this white, clean room, with doctors and nurses to take care of her and feed her, and there were no monsters or ghosts, no bloody walls, no endless staircases or ladders she couldn't climb…and best of all, no Walter. None of that. It was all behind her.

As the day wore on, she realized that she had to start trying to make some sense of it all. The memories were all jumbled in her mind, and she hadn't had time until then to put it all together, to try to assemble a coherent picture. Not knowing what had happened wasn't going to help her to regain her peace of mind. It was time to sort things out. She spent the rest of that day and the next going over things in detail, thinking, putting things together and letting the memories flow freely. They still made her uneasy, but she knew that they were firmly locked in the past. They couldn't threaten her any longer. That helped a lot.

But two days later, when she finally walked out of the sliding glass doors of St. Jerome's, there were many, many things that still didn't make sense. Although she and Henry had been able to figure out enough of what was going on to get out alive, that wasn't enough now. She knew that she was missing a lot of the pieces of the puzzle, and she couldn't see the whole picture without them. She needed answers. Answers that maybe Henry would be able to give her.

_Maybe after a while we can sit down and talk about it. We could compare notes, try to figure out just what happened. He didn't have much time to explain everything, and I wasn't in any shape to listen anyway. I have so many questions to ask him…and maybe he doesn't know all of the answers, but if anybody does, he does._

_I hope that he's resting too, and sorting things out…I hope that he's going to be OK._

Henry hadn't stopped by after that one visit. Eileen wasn't surprised. After all, he had always kept to himself, and after everything that had happened, perhaps he wasn't in the mood for company. Isolated reflection was probably his thing, anyway. She was a talker, and liked to bounce things off of her friends to get their input, but he clearly wasn't. It wasn't that he didn't communicate – far from it. It was more that he seemed to be entirely self-contained, not in need of other people or things or anything outside of himself…and thank God that he had been that person. He'd had to be strong for two people that night, strong enough to keep her from completely losing it. She had the gut feeling that he really hadn't needed her, that he'd have been fine – hell, better off – without her.

She'd realized during her ruminations that of all of the surprises and unexpected events that night, he'd been the biggest surprise of all. While she'd been freaking out and putting all of her energy into keeping a smile on her face and trying not to panic, he'd been a rock…calm, collected, reassuring, and there when she needed him. A rock, except for a single moment of weakness in the subway after they saw what he told her was the ghost of a woman he'd met there…and even then, it had been completely understandable. No human could have gone through all of that without cracking sooner or later. But then he'd picked himself up, put himself back together, splashed his face with cold water, and gotten on with it. Five minutes later, the woman's ghost was pinned to the floor of the subway and they were on their way. She knew that she couldn't have managed that…and she'd never have imagined that he'd have been so handy with an axe, either. At this point, almost nothing he might say or do would surprise her, it seemed.

Nothing, that is, except vanishing.

When she finally returned to her apartment, overnight bag in one hand and medication in the other, she dumped everything on the kitchen counter and immediately headed down the hall. She knocked on the door to 302, but got no response.

"Henry? It's me," she called. "Are you in there?"

No response. She leaned closed to the door and cupped her hands around her mouth.

"Henry?"

She knocked again, and then put her ear to the door and listened, but there was nothing but absolute silence.

_Oh well. Maybe he's gone out._

She looked up his number in the phone book and tried to call, but nobody picked up, not even an answering machine. So, she left a note in his mailbox letting him know that she was back, and reminding him of the dinner she owed him.

When she didn't hear back, she wasn't too worried. Maybe even dealing with her would be more than he wanted now. God knew that he'd had to put up with her slow, limping, whiny, Walter-possessed butt for all of that time…maybe he'd had enough. That thought hurt a little, but she owed him more than she could ever repay, and if space was what he wanted, then space was what she would give him. Still, she wanted to let him know that she was there for him.

So, every day, for the next few days, she stopped by his place after walking downstairs to pick up her mail, and rang the bell and knocked…and got no response. Today's knock on the door was no different. Now, she was standing there, staring at the peephole, completely at a loss. She was beginning to wonder if he'd moved out.

_You'd think he'd have left a note or something…maybe not, though. Maybe he just wanted to get out and forget about this place…about everything that happened...about me…_

"Something going on?"

Eileen turned around. Old Mike from 301 was shuffling down the hall.

"Hey. Have you seen Henry lately?"

"Is that his name? No, haven't seen him."

_Huh._

"Last time I saw him was days ago. The afternoon after they took you to the hospital. He was carrying some boxes up here around one or so. Thought he might be moving out."

_Damn…_

"Thanks."

Mike nodded and continued down the hall. Eileen remained at the door for several minutes, staring forlornly at the peephole.

_He's gone. And he didn't even say goodbye._

She reached up and traced its outline with her finger. She would have given almost anything to be able to see through it, to…to do what? Check on him? Let him know that she was there? Ask him over for snacks and a movie?

What was the point? There was nothing left for her to do. He was gone.

Why did that hurt so much?


	2. Room 302

**A/N: …here we go.**

* * *

Who's there?

…

Is…is someone there?

_Welcome home, Henry._

…

_Happy to see me?_

No. It can't be.

_Yes._

…

_Henry. You know that it is._

…

_Come on. Denial will solve nothing. Here. This should help._

What the...

_Don't worry. I want to make sure we're not interrupted. Are you surprised?_ _I thought you'd be used to the locks by now. _

…

_You're going to have to talk to me sooner or later. It's just you and me now. _

There's nothing to talk about.

_Oh yes, there is. _

I thought you were...

_No. You…_

What about me?

_You made me this way._

No, I didn't.

_This is because of you._

No. I didn't do this. He did.

_He…was trying to help. It was what he was born to do. You stopped him. You left me like this._

I did what I had to.

_All he wanted you to do was to give yourself to me. Just as he had. Was that so much to ask?_

He wanted me to die for you. I wasn't going to do that.

_Why not? It was necessary. Your sacrifice would have opened the gates to Paradise._

Paradise? Looked more like Hell to me.

_Paradise. My son was going to bring about a new world._

He wasn't your son. He was an orphan.

_He became my son. They gave him to me. Such a dutiful son, too. Did what he was born to do._

No, he wasn't. Those cultists raised him to think that he was.

_Cultists? Is that what you think they were? They were my children. They loved him. They loved you. _

They couldn't have loved me. They didn't know me.

_But he did. And he loved you, just like they did._

They didn't know anything about love. Eileen read his writings to me. I know what they did to him. I saw that prison of theirs, too, and what they did to those kids. All they knew was hate and fear.

_They were all about love. Not like some people. It's you who doesn't know. _

That's not true.

_Yes, it is. You know nothing of love. How could you?_

Don't be ridiculous.

_Come on, Henry. Just look at yourself. You're the result of a screwed-up home. Canonical maladjusted product of a dysfunctional childhood. Isn't that what they call it these days?_

That's _none_ of your business.

_Oh, no. It's all my business now. Your father didn't know what to do with you. You were such a disappointment to him. He wanted a son to carry on the family military tradition, make him proud, maybe even make colonel someday. And what did he get? An artsy type who was inseparable from his old camera and wouldn't put on a uniform if his life depended on it. All the push-ups and practice drills and threats of military school in the world could never change that. Almost didn't bother to come to your high school graduation, remember? That's why he left. Because of you. And your mother…_

_Don't_ talk about my mother!

_Your mother saw him when she looked at you. You look so much like him sometimes, except for your eyes and hair. So much like your father. That's what she used to say, didn't she? She couldn't help it, you know. As you grew older, she looked at you and saw only what was missing. That's why…_

You don't know anything about that.

_Oh yes I do. I know everything, my boy. Everything. I know why you keep yourself locked up in this apartment day in and day out and never speak to anybody. Why the only times you leave are for food and necessities and work, and never for fun. I know why your phone bill shows only a handful of incoming calls every month, all from old man Widmark calling to schedule photo shoots. Why the only mail you get is bills and circulars and the occasional tiny check. I know why you keep the world on the other side of your zoom lens, never venturing further. I know why you never write to her._

You don't know _anything._

_Oh, but I do. I'm a mother. I know everything about my children._

Damn it. I'm not one of your children.

_You will be. Soon._

What the HELL are you talking about?

_You've taken away my only son. The only one I had left. He was my favorite…_

He wasn't your goddamn _son_.

_Don't interrupt, Henry. He was mine. All mine. Completely devoted to me. And I miss him so much. Now that he's gone, I cannot let that hole go unfilled. I need another._

…oh no. No, no, no…

_Oh yes, my love. Since you so rudely interrupted his important work, it's up to you to complete it. You've already shown that you're up to the task. Any mother should be proud to have such a strong, brave, wise son._

…oh God. I can't believe this.

_I am your God now._

No. Never. You're no God that I could ever believe in.

_I __**am**__ your God now. You should feel honored to have the privilege of being my son. _

No!

_Yes. I can do anything, Henry. That's one of the perks of being God. If you love me and do as I say, I can give you anything. I can give you…_

I don't want any of your damn gifts.

_Don't be so sure. I can give you anything your heart desires._

There's nothing that I want that badly.

_You're lying. I know you better than that. There are so many things. I can give her to you._

Who?

_You know exactly who I'm talking about._

…no. I don't.

_There's that lying again. Didn't anybody ever tell you not to lie to your mother? Mothers can always tell._

Stop it.

_You know __**exactly**__ who I'm talking about. Don't deny it. She's such a pretty girl, Henry. Outgoing, sweet, friendly. So unlike you. But you two are cute together. It's almost touching, the way you took care of her, watched out for her…_

…oh Jesus, no…

_Oh yes. That's your brain talking, but you're more than just a brain. Much more. Don't deny it. You've wanted her since you saw her through the hole in your wall the first time, even if you didn't realize it. Then, she embraced you in the hospital and you felt her body against yours…so warm and alive…_

…

_That's why you had to pull back from her so quickly. Let her go. I know you, Henry. You and your damn gentleman complex. That mother of yours screwed you up but good, especially when it comes to women. She's everything you ever dreamed of, everything you could imagine. She and you are like day and night. Two sides of the same coin, though. She's perfect, and you will never have her._

What makes you so sure?

_Heh. Again, Henry. I know you. You'd never go further with her than dinner and a movie. She'd have to throw herself at you before you'd react. Again. Useless, just useless. You'd let the best opportunity you'll ever have in your pathetic little existence pass you by because you don't have the guts to DO anything about it. That is, if she was interested in the first place._

She did ask me to dinner –

_She feels obligated. Thinks she owes you her life. She's just doing it because she doesn't want to feel like she owes you one. Wants to get you off her back so you don't make demands she can't refuse. That will always hang between you, no matter what. Whenever she looks at you, she'll remember that night. You know that. And she knows it as well as you do. There's nothing either of you could ever do about it. As if she would even want to. She can do a lot better than you, you know. You're just a poor photographer without two pennies to scrape together. You saw her in that dress. She could catch any man's eye._

…yeah…

_Such a pity. She's so perfect for you. Don't you think she's attractive? Nice figure, pretty face…just your type. Just like you'd always imagined. Your dream girl._

…

_Yes, she is. And a little spitfire too. So unlike you. Imagine it, Henry. Her and you, together. She can be yours forever. Or would you even know what to do with her?_

…what?

_No, I don't mean that. Although you could. No, I don't know if you'd have the first idea what to do with someone who was there for you all of the time. All yours, to talk to you and love you and take care of you. I don't think you'd be able to handle it. Perhaps it's best that you're alone after all. Yes. It's for the best._

…no…I don't…

_Awww. My poor, poor Henry. You don't want to be lonely any more. It's only natural. Even for you. I can make sure that that never happens again. Mommy will make everything all right for her baby boy. All you have to do is to bring her to me, and she's yours forever._

…no. I know what you really want. You want me to finish what he started. You don't care about me. You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself. You just want both of us dead.

_No, you're wrong. You're my son, as he once was. I love you. I want what's best for you._

You're no mother of mine. My mother isn't perfect, but she's nothing like you.

_That's an understatement. She didn't know how lucky she was to have you. Stupid bi –_

DON'T talk about my mother like that!

_She's no mother to you. She never was. She gave you life and that was it. I can be everything for you, my Henry, everything, and I can give you anything your heart desires. _

No. I haven't come this far to give in now. Never.

_Never say never._

Never.

_YOU WILL!_

No. I will not.

_Obey your mother, Henry._

You're not my mother.

_Do what I tell you to. Or…_

Or what? What are you going to do to me? You need me, right?

_For now._

…what's that supposed to mean?

_Oh, Henry, do we really have to talk this way? Do we have to fight? After all, isn't a boy's best friend his mother?_

You know what? You make me sick. You really do. There's no changing that.

_Really? You have no idea…_

What's _that_ supposed to mean?

_I don't want to have to go that route, Henry. I'm going to get what I need from you, one way or another. It's up to you. You can work with me, and I can give you everything you've ever wanted. Or you can defy me, and…_

And what?

_It won't be pretty, I can promise you that. You don't want that. Trust me. _

Not likely. That's how it's going to be. There is no way that you'll get me to help you.

_No way? _

None.

_Are you sure?_

Very.

_This is your last chance. There's no going back, you know. Even if you change your mind later, I won't be able to trust you. _

I know.

_So, I ask you one last time…will you help me?_

No.

_That's too bad. Everything that happens from now will be because of your stubbornness, Henry. It's all your fault._

Nothing will happen. Not now.

_Believe that if you will. You're putting yourself and me to a lot of trouble for nothing. It's only a matter of time before I get what I want. If not from you, then from the next person. I can wait. I have as long as I need._

…what?

_I have forever, Henry. Each of the Sacraments that my Walter brought to me made me more powerful. I'm almost there now, and before he died he marked the last two for me. She is the Mother, and you are the Receiver. My Walter did his job well. His assistance is no longer necessary. I'm strong enough to stay this way until the final steps can be taken. As long as I have you here with me, I'm fine. All I need is for her and you to die. She will die sooner or later, one way or another. But I don't think it will take too long._

…

_Know why? Because I control the other variable in this equation. You. I have you. Here. Now. Forever, if I want. I could keep you alive in here for eternity if I wanted to. Wouldn't that be fun? You always wanted more time with your mommy. Now you have the rest of your life. Such as it is._

…God…

_Your God has nothing to do with this. I am your God now. And I can kill you with a single thought. But I'm not going to do that. Not yet. There's too much to do first. You've been a very bad boy, Henry, and Mommy has to teach you a lesson. That could take a while. I haven't decided yet._

…

_And you know what the really great thing about it is? When I'm done, when you have finally come to me, I'll be strong enough to wait. All I have to do is open the door and wait for the next sucker to come along. Nobody will ever know what happened to you, just like nobody ever found Joseph. Frank will send some poor bastard in here to sit on Joseph's couch and watch your old TV and live his sad little life, and all I will have to do is close the door and have the same fun with him that we're having now. Maybe he'll be more cooperative. Take care of Little Miss Perfect for me._

When is this going to end?

_For you? Like I said, I haven't figured that out yet. Don't you listen?_

I meant, for you.

_Not concerned about ourselves, are we? So selfless. Such a pity that you can't see things my way. To answer your question…it will __**never**__ end for me. That's the beauty of it. I will get what I want sooner or later, and then I will be free to do as I please. Hope the next one moves in soon…I do so love my children, you know. See? I have a present for you._

What…what are you doing?

_For now, I am showing myself to you and only you. You can see me as well as hear me. I'm all around you, Henry. In the walls, in your furniture, everywhere. This is the embrace of a loving mother. Or the closest you'll get to one. Tell me I'm beautiful, my dear. Make your mother happy._

What? No. You're not beautiful. You're… oh my GOD…

_Says you. I'm a god. You are my son. I don't have to concern myself with what you think._

I don't want to believe this.

_Too bad. You have no choice. Need proof?_

No, I…Iaaahh…

_Well, here's some proof. Mommy knows what's best for you._

…nnngggh…no…not…notmymomMYYY…

_Poor deluded little Henry. Hasn't learned his lesson yet. Well, here's another._

…G…ggg….gaaaaAAAAAAHHHH!

_Your mother brought you into this world, and this Mother can take you out of it._

…please…no…

_Remember. Mommy loves you, Henry, and this is for your own good._


	3. Eileen's Dream

From the moment she'd turned away from the door of 302 and walked back down the hallway to her apartment, Eileen hadn't been able to stop thinking about Henry. He'd drifted through her thoughts many times each day since she'd come home almost a week before; she'd wonder briefly how he was doing, if he was OK, that sort of thing. But now he was gone, and it was all that she could think about. She didn't know how she should feel about that…only that it hurt for reasons she couldn't articulate.

_He doesn't owe you anything. Never did, never will. So what's your problem? _

_Come on. Admit it. You feel left behind. Abandoned. By somebody you thought you knew, somebody you trusted. You only met him that night, but it sure felt as if you'd known him all your life by the end of it all, didn't it? You thought that there was some sort of friendship there, some connection, some shared experience…something that should matter._

_Guess you didn't really know him at all._

For the rest of the day, it tugged at her. The part of her that wasn't occupied with missing him blamed herself for feeling bad about it in the first place. She had no claim on him, or on his time – far from it, she owed him more than she could ever repay – so who was she to feel hurt? He had earned the right to do as he thought best, whatever that might be. And if leaving was what he needed…

_But why, Eileen? Why? Wouldn't you give anything now to ask him that?_

She told herself to suck it up and get over it, dammit, and toward the end of the evening she thought that she'd managed exactly that. To test herself, she stood in front of his door with her eyes closed, and ran her hands over the wood and traced the peephole with a finger as she brought up images of an empty apartment in her mind. Like Joseph's, but with no candles or heads in the ceiling or red notes…and no Henry.

And she felt…nothing. Nothing at all.

But as she turned out the light by her bed, something dripped onto her hand, and as she looked up to check the ceiling for leaks, she felt wetness run back into her eye.

…_oh._

She got into bed, laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. Sleep, however, was some time in coming.

* * *

It was the early hours of the morning now, and Eileen was fast asleep in her bed, dead to the world. There was a chill in the night air, one of the first signs of the end of summer, but she left a window cracked open just a tiny bit because…just because. Now, she was dreaming again, the same dream she had had every night since. She tossed restlessly, lost in the depths of her nightmare. 

She was running from something…something she couldn't see. She could hear its heavy footsteps behind her…it was going to catch up with her any moment now…it roared…she could smell its breath. And she couldn't find Henry anywhere. She didn't know where he was. He had never left her behind, never...and whenever he had to go somewhere without her, he'd always come back. Was he hurt, or lost, or stuck somewhere, or …dead? She didn't know. Whatever had happened, now he was gone. He couldn't help her any more. It hadn't happened _then_, but it was happening now. Same as every other night, but this time she felt his absence like a knife in her chest.

Then, the scene changed as it never had before. Now, she was running down the corridor outside her apartment. It was just as it had been then…the walls were red and throbbing and bloody, and the floor was chain-link and blood-soaked carpet that grabbed at her shoes and squished under her feet. But there was something different that she couldn't quite put her finger on...something even more out of the ordinary than the rest of it. Was it the strange pulsing sound that echoed through the hall as she hurried through? She didn't have much time to think about it, though, because the something was still back there behind her, its heavy footsteps echoing down the long hallway.

Her toe caught the ragged edge of the ripped carpet by her door, and she stumbled and n grabbed for the door. She tugged on her doorknob, but nothing doing. The door was stuck. The next door stood open, though, surrounded by clean white-and-black linoleum, and she flung herself inside and slammed it shut behind her. She leaned back against it, eyes closed, catching her breath for a moment, as the something roared and banged on the other side. Her pulse was thundering in her ears, but slowed to a more normal rhythm after several seconds.

She gradually became aware of a presence nearby as her head started to throb and her legs wobbled. She reached for the doorknob, but stopped herself. Whatever was in here was likely no worse than whatever was on the other side of the door, and she preferred to deal with one at a time.

Instead, she lifted one eyelid, then another, and looked around the gray, ordinary room. The room was silent and lifeless. A few dozen books sat in a bookshelf, and a single red pillow rested stiffly on the couch. Pictures of buildings and scenery hung on the walls, and the tables held a few personal photos. Nothing unusual about it…nothing remarkable at all. Yet, there was something…sterile about the place. It felt somehow as if it had been years since anyone had lived here. There was an odd haziness in the room…she couldn't focus her eyes. Maybe it was the headache. That must be it.

_This…this is Henry's apartment_, she remembered. _Next door to mine. That's why it looks familiar…we went through it when Joseph lived here. But it didn't look like this…maybe this is what it looks like now? I've never been in it…I wouldn't know._

Then, something was standing there in front of her, stinking of blood and rot and death. It took her a few seconds to realize what it was, for her brain to process the unthinkable images that her eyes were sending it…the bloodstained jeans, the old shirt stained with God-only-knows-what around the collar and cuffs, the lank brown hair hanging over the greenish flesh that was sloughing off of that familiar face, and the_ 21/21_ carved into the neck and chest.

She didn't want to believe what she was seeing. This couldn't be right. Her head was pounding…she couldn't think straight. That was it. Must be it. She was seeing things. She raised her hand to her forehead automatically, and remembered suddenly how he used to do just the same, when they would encounter a ghost in those other worlds. They made his headache worse, he had told her…

_No. Not a..._

But it had to be. He…his head was hanging backward over his shoulder, rolling gently back and forth as he breathed, and suddenly she knew just how he'd died.

_Oh, Henry…God…no, not you too…_

He was twitching, muttering, mumbling _something_ that she couldn't make out. Not reaching for her like the others had, not leering at her, just standing there in front of her.

_As if…as if he wants something._

She knew she should have felt horror, revulsion, panic, terror, but all she could feel was a deep sense of loss. She looked into his eyes, but those familiar green irises were dark now. The muttering became more distinct.

"Ul…l…uhl…"

His breath was foul, but no fouler than the rest. As his lips moved, she saw the fine skin on them start to crack and seep. She strained to make out the words.

"...uhlll…eee…"

…_oh God. He's…he's still in there._

"Henry," she whispered. She wanted to ask him what had happened, and how, but it was all too clear. Her hand lifted, reached to his…their fingers were nearly touching…she could sense some little part of him that remained, some little shred of the man she'd known for those few hours…or was it just wishful thinking?

She heard it then, from far away. A sound she'd only heard one time before, under very different circumstances, but one she'd recognize until the day she died.

Henry's scream.

It rang through the room, abnormally loud, and cut through the haze with a blinding light…

...and she was awake, in her bed, in the middle of the night. Her hair was damp and stuck to her cheeks, and sweat was running down her neck, but the room was cool. After a few seconds, the sound faded from her ears, and she realized that the building was silent, as it always was this late at night. No screaming, no yelling…not even the sound of cars going by the window. The only sound was the thumping of her heart.

Maybe it had just been in her dream. If it had been real, somebody else would have heard it. There would be footsteps running down the hallway, voices yelling, hands knocking at doors. She sat perfectly still for a half minute or so, listening, but the building remained silent. Whatever it was she'd heard, nobody else had heard it.

_Just a dream, then. It was only a dream._

She put her face in her hands and breathed deeply, but the images took a long time to fade…so long, and telling herself that it had been just a dream didn't help at all.

After a while, she raised her head. The room was dark, except for the ambient light from the neon signs across the street. As her vision adjusted to the darkness, a shadow caught her eye, low on the wall by the foot of her bed next to the TV. There was a bump there now, a slight swelling in the wall. She could have sworn that it hadn't been there when she'd gone to sleep.

She got out of bed and crouched to inspect it more closely. It looked like a large bubble in the wallpaper, but it was soft to the touch, almost squishy, and warm. It felt almost alive. There was some odd sound coming from it, or from behind it...a low humming. It wasn't a buzzing, or anything distinct, no...it was more like multiple vibrations, all at once, coming together and pulsating, beating. It seemed as if it was coming not from the bump, but from whatever was on the other side of the bump.

_Like a heartbeat. A huge, deep heartbeat. Strange. What could it be? It's not the air conditioning, or the water pipes, or anything like that. _

What was on the other side of that wall? If she remembered correctly, all of the apartments in South Ashfield Heights were laid out more or less identically. From what she had seen of 302 when she and Henry had been there, it was very like her apartment. So, on the other side of this wall would be Henry's living room. This point would be just past the juncture of the kitchen and the living room…

_Where that big hole in the wall was. I remember it._

There had been a large depression cut into the wall, right about where this bump was. Joseph had made it when he was stuck in there, to try to get out or to get help, and Henry had sheepishly admitted to seeing her through it a few times that day. So, the wall was thinner right here...there might even be a hole concealed by the wallpaper, for all she knew. No, there _had_ to be, if Henry had been able to look through it.

She put her eye to the hole, but she couldn't see a thing. There was only blackness, and the pulsating sound that shook her fingers as they lay against the wall.

_I've never heard anything like this before, not here. Not that I can remember._

_No, that's wrong. Not __**here**__, but…I __**have**__ heard something like this before. The thrumming…it's the sound of the hallway from my dream._

_But there's nothing in the real world that could be making that noise. Nothing could sound like that. _

_Nothing __**real**__…_

Eileen was convinced that what she was hearing was coming from Henry's room. And she was just as certain that whatever it was couldn't be good.

_There's something very wrong going on here. And my gut tells me that he's in the middle of it. Maybe it's wishful thinking, imagining that he hadn't left…but maybe not. _

_If not…_

She remained wide awake for the rest of the night, staring at the lump in her wall.


	4. Outside 302

The next morning, Eileen knocked on Frank's door. There was no answer immediately, but Eileen knew from past experience that Frank took his time answering the door. After about half a minute, she wondered whether he was just sitting in there, hoping that whoever it was would just give up and go away. Well, she wasn't going to. So, she knocked again.

"It's about Henry," she said, when the door finally swung open.

"What about him?" Frank was gruff, as usual. Some things didn't change.

"I'm worried about him. I haven't seen him in days. Mike from 301 said he moved out, but I'm hearing these weird noises coming from his apartment."

"Moved out?" Frank interrupted. "No, Henry didn't move out. Or if he did, he skipped on his lease and didn't leave the key."

"I don't think he'd do that, do you?"

Frank thought for a moment. "No. You never know with young people nowadays – sorry, Miss Galvin – but he didn't seem the type. Always pays his rent on time."

"So why hasn't anybody seen him for the past week?"

"He keeps to himself. Always has. You know that. And after what's happened…"

"Has he been picking up his mail?"

"Now that's a good question," Frank replied. "He always gets his mail. Every day. There's never any left in his mailbox when I do the sorting, but it's been sitting in there for days now. Not that he gets much."

"Maybe he went on vacation?" _Got the hell out, went to stay with family or friends…_

"He always tells me when he's going away for a couple of days. Only happened a few times that I know of. I keep an eye on things, you know? But I haven't heard a thing from him."

There was that sinking feeling again.

"And it didn't occur to you that something might be _wrong_?"

Frank shrugged. "Well, I…uh…I try to stay out of tenants' business. I get enough to deal with as it is. No need to go looking for more."

"_Frank_…"

"Yeah, yeah, we'll go check on him."

He grabbed his keys off of the wall, and they started up the stairs.

* * *

On the way up, they met old Mrs. Adams from 304. She was a friendly little old lady, fluffy and white-haired like a character out of a book, and always seemed to know what was going on, as Richard had. But unlike Richard, she looked out for the younger tenants of the building almost like a grandmother. She always knew when something was bothering someone, and Eileen had been invited to 304 for tea and sympathy more times than she could remember. Still, as she moved down the hallway toward them in her long coat and flat hat, Eileen was reminded of the old-lady ghost that they'd seen that night, and she shivered just a little.

Mrs. Adams peered at her. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I…I don't know."

"Eileen, dear, you don't look well. What is it?"

"Mrs. Adams, have you seen Henry from 302 lately?"

"Hmmm…now that you mention it, I haven't," she said. "I'd remember if I had. Such a thoughtful young man. He helped me carry things upstairs when I came back from the store a few weeks ago. I thought that he might have moved out after all those terrible things happened." She shook her head. "I wouldn't blame him if he did."

"He hasn't moved out," Frank said, "and he hasn't gone on vacation. Nobody's seen him in days. Miss Galvin here is worried about him."

"We're going to check on him," Eileen added. "Make sure he's all right."

"That's very good of you. I'll come along, if you don't mind."

The door to Room 302 was closed and locked, the same as usual. Eileen put her ear to the door, but heard nothing at all. Frank's keys jingled as he tried the lock...and nothing happened. He tried it again. And again. After much rattling and twisting, he stepped back from the door.

"That's strange," he said.

"What's strange?" Eileen asked.

"This key. It should open the door, but it doesn't work. I can feel it tripping the lock, but the door's staying closed anyway. Just like before."

A little shiver ran down Eileen's spine. _Just like before__…_

"We've got to get that door open," she replied. "Something's wrong. I know it."

Frank put his eye up to the peephole and peered in. Then, he leaned into the door and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Henry! This is the superintendent. Are you in there?" he yelled. "Open up."

There was no response.

"Henry, I'm here with Miss Galvin and Mrs. Adams. We just want to check on you. Make sure you're OK."

Silence.

"Henry!"

Frank pounded on the door with his fist, and slammed into it with his shoulder, to no effect. It stayed firmly closed.

"Well, uh…I'd have to break it down, or break the doorframe," he said. "Are we really sure that he's in there?"

"_Frank…_"

"OK, OK," he said.

"Pardon my interruption," Mrs. Adams said, "but what are you going to do once you get the door open?"

They both stared at her. In her worry and panic, Eileen hadn't thought at all about what they might find in there. Mrs. Adams turned to her.

"Eileen, what do you think is going on?"

Eileen shook her head. "It sounds crazy, I know, but I think that that room's…well, something evil is in there. Again. And I'm afraid that it's got Henry."

Mrs. Adams nodded. "I see. If so, then you'll need backup, like they say on TV." She smiled conspiratorially. "I know just the person to call. I'll be right back."

_Wow. She believes me. Mrs. Adams, you...rock._

As the old woman disappeared into her apartment, Eileen turned to Frank. "How can we get through this door?"

"Well, I have an old fire axe downstairs, and a sledgehammer. Those should break through. It'll take a while, though."

_Wish I had that pickaxe of Henry's right about now..._

Eileen nodded. "Let's get started. I don't think that we have much time to waste."

* * *

When they returned upstairs, tools in tow, Mrs. Adams was in the hallway waiting for them. "He's on the way," she said with a smile.

"Who is?" Eileen asked.

"Father Kelley, from my church. It seemed to me that if we're fighting evil here, a holy man might be helpful."

_Makes sense to me. But I hope that's enough…_

"Don't worry, dear," Mrs. Adams said, laying a hand on Eileen's arm. "He has experience in handling strange occurrences. He's bringing supplies." She leaned closer to Eileen and winked. "And he's six and a half feet tall and built like a brick outhouse."

Eileen smiled. "Mrs. Adams, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What if…I mean, all these things I'm talking about...evil and monsters and all that…it must sound pretty crazy…"

Mrs. Adams patted her arm.

"When you get to be my age, Eileen," she said softly, "you've seen many unusual things. Especially living around here, this close to Silent Hill. The stories you hear sometimes...nothing's too strange to be impossible. After what happened to the two of you and to Richard Braintree and those other people..." She shook her head.

_Isn't that the truth._

"It just goes to show that you can't be too careful. If I were you, I'd be worried about Mr. Townshend too. I am, now." She nodded toward the plain white door. "I hope that we're wrong."

Eileen nodded. "Thank you. So do I."

Mrs. Adams patted her arm. "Let's let Frank take care of the door. You've been through so much lately. While we're waiting...won't you have a scone?"

* * *

About half an hour later, heavy footsteps came down the hallway, and then there was a knock on the door of 304. Mrs. Adams looked up.

"That'll be him." She patted Eileen's hand. "Don't worry. He'll know what to do."

"I hope so," Eileen replied.

Father Kelley was a big, muscular man with thick black hair and a large, friendly face. Blue eyes gleamed brightly on either side of a small, rounded nose, and a worn black leather bag dangled from his hand. Standing there in his black suit and priest's collar, he seemed as if he'd walked straight out of a movie, and he was so large that he nearly filled the doorway. If he hadn't been a priest, Eileen thought, he'd have made a perfect bouncer.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Father," Mrs. Adams said, grasping his hand. The three of them started down the hallway, toward the door of 302. Frank was still hacking away at the doorframe.

"Sounds serious, Patricia," he replied. His voice was surprisingly quiet and soothing for such a large man.

"Very serious. This is Eileen Galvin, who lives in Room 303. You know Frank, of course."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Galvin," he said. They stopped by the door to 302, and he nodded at Frank.

"Thank you for helping us, Father," she replied.

He smiled kindly at her. "If you don't mind, I'll skip the formalities. Mrs. Adams has filled me in on what's going on here, so I've brought along some equipment." He placed the large leather bag on the floor and opened it, then pulled out two ropes. "Here's the plan. Once the door is open, Miss Galvin and I will go in to the room. We'll tie these ropes to ourselves just in case."

_Just in case of what? No. He seems to know what he's doing…maybe I don't want that question answered just yet._

"Two large flashlights," he said, handing one to her. It was a couple of feet long and weighed several pounds. "They're bright, and will raise a nasty lump on the head of anything in our way. For backup, I have this," he said, lifting a shiny revolver out of the bag. It glinted in the harsh hallway light.

_It looks just like Richard's revolver, the one he carried with him everywhere. It was so strange, seeing it in Henry's hands...his hands were large, but the gun was bigger…_

_Richard…_

"Father Kelley?"

"What is it, Miss Galvin?"

"Eileen, please, Father, and it's that…well, there were...these _things_," she stammered. The dead faces floated before her in shadowy memory, papery and white. "Down there...they were everywhere. We couldn't kill them...they kept coming back. Nothing would stop them...well, there was this weird kind of sword, but I don't have any of those..."

Father Kelley placed his hand on hers gently. He had big hands, too. "Eileen, what was it that you couldn't kill?"

"Ghosts, Father. At least, I think they were ghosts. They were the worst, and I don't know if..."

He nodded grimly. "We'll handle that if and when it comes. That's what the ropes are for."

She didn't really understand, but she nodded.

Just then, Frank stepped back from the door and leaned on his axe, catching his breath, and everyone turned to him expectantly. "The door's almost open," he said. "Should take another minute or two."

"Need a hand with that?" Father Kelley asked.

"No, I'm almost done," Frank replied. As he lifted his fire axe and returned to swinging at the splintered and twisted doorframe, Father Kelley took Eileen aside.

"I heard about what happened to Henry and to you. How are you doing?"

She didn't know how to answer that. "I…I don't know. I'm sorry, Father. I…I mean, they let me out of the hospital a few days ago, so I'm OK that way, but…"

"Can you do this?"

She raised her chin. "You couldn't stop me if you tried."

He smiled. "I had to ask."

"I know. Thank you."

"Eileen, we don't know what we're going to find in there. Are you going to be able to…"

"Father, yes," she said. "I have to. I owe him my life. This is the least that I can do."

"You've been through a lot together, from what I understand. Does he trust you?"

"I think so."

"Good. That's why I hoped that you would go. If he's alive in there, he may be in bad shape. He'll need you."

"If he's alive..."

It hadn't occurred to her yet just how far this could have gone. She didn't want to think about any other possibility.

_He has to be alive. He's...he's Henry. That's what I told myself all that time...it's Henry, he knows what to do...it's Henry, he can stop that monster...Henry will figure out what's going on and how to get us out of here. I was telling myself that, but what if I'm wrong now? What if…_

She remembered the look on Henry's face after Walter had blown out his guts in the forest. He'd stumbled through the gate with a hole in his side the size of a dinner plate and blood all over his shirt and running down his jeans, and it took him a few long, long seconds to realize what had happened to him. She'd never forget that look …astonishment mixed with disbelief and, she could have sworn, more than a hint of indignation.

_Henry, in a nutshell. Leave it to him to react that way._

Then, as his legs buckled, she'd pulled him to his feet and somehow they'd gotten back to the orphanage. The moment they got inside the door, he'd dropped to the ground, and after a minute she knew from the lake of blood and the paleness and clamminess of his skin that he was…

…and that she was alone. She'd poured one of those brown drinks into him, then another, but nothing had happened. She'd taken him by the shoulder and shaken him, calling his name, but he had just flopped limply back to the ground. She'd sat there for a few seconds, just looking at him, unable to believe what her eyes were telling her so clearly. Then she'd fallen apart, sobbing and screaming and pummeling his chest to get him to wake up, but he'd just become colder and more pale as the seconds passed and his life-blood soaked into the dirt. She ended up curled up in a ball crying her eyes out in grief and fear. When he woke up and knocked over one of the empty bottles, she'd nearly jumped out of her skin, and it took every bit of strength she had left not to fling her arms around him and burst out crying again.

…_but what if it happens again? What if there are no brown drinks, no safe places to rest…_

Suddenly, she felt more alone than she had ever felt before, just as she had then. She sat down hard on the linoleum of the hallway floor. Father Kelley's practiced eye scanned her face, and his hand squeezed hers reassuringly.

"We have to hope that he is, Eileen. God willing."

All that she could do was wait as he sorted through his bag and Frank's axe pounded against the wood over and over again.


	5. Room 302 Again

**A/N: More unhygienic practices within.**

* * *

_  
_

_Time to wake up now. Wakey wakey, baby boy._

…_  
_

_That's it. Rise and shine. Are you feeling better?_

…

_Good. Now get up and come to the door. _

…

_Come here, Henry. Stop being stubborn._

…

_Come HERE, Henry._

…

_Oh, that's right. Perhaps I was a little rough on you before. That __**was**__ a lot of blood. And you do need that leg in one piece, I suppose. _

AAAAAAGH!

_See? There's nothing I can't fix. Broken bones, shredded flesh...all in a day's work for Doctor Mom. There you go. Boo-boo all better now._

...lucky for me...

_Too late to kiss up now, Henry. Far too late. Nah, who am I kidding? You'd never kiss up to me. You don't suck up to anybody. Ever. Stubborn stuck-up brat. Well, at least I get to have __**my**__ fun._

…

_Come over to the door. No, I'm not going to unlock it. Don't get your hopes up. _

…

_Don't pull that crap. I fixed you, so I know you can stand up. _

…

_See? I knew you could. Now move it._

…

_Look through the peephole. I know you know how to do that. What do you see, Henry?_

…

_Tell me. What do you see? I think I can guess. _

…

_See how she..._

Yes. I see.

_She looks so sad, don't you think? Standing out there, staring at your door like that._

…

_She looks almost forlorn. Poor little thing. Almost as if she misses you._

…

_Of course, that's a ridiculous idea. She could never miss you. Not you. You must be seeing things again._

…

_...but wouldn't you like it to be true?_

No.

_Why on Earth not? You know you –_

NO.

_Ah, __**there**__ you are. It's still funny to hear you deny it._

…

_And futile, too. A mother knows her son. And look, my dear, she's wearing a most enticing outfit. Lucky for you it's still summer out. Otherwise you couldn't look out of that little peephole and see right down her –_

That's enough.

_Where are you going?_

Does it matter?

_You're being a bad boy. GET BACK OVER HERE._

No.

_She's still there, you know. Don't you want to keep looking at her? It might be your last chance._

No.

_I don't believe you._

I don't care…what you believe.

_Don't be stubborn, Henry. You worked your ass off to keep hers alive, and this is all she gets? One final blowoff? Come ON._

…

_Same old, same old. Oh well. Don't make me..._

Have it your way.

_That's it. That's the idea. _

You don't give me much of a choice.

_No, I don't. You know what will happen if you disobey me. Pick your battles wisely._

All of them.

_What? Speak up. I can barely hear you._

Like I said…you don't give me much of a choice.

_...exactly. Yet still you fight me. Why bother?_

It's all I have left.

_No, you have me. Walter took his own life and eighteen others to get to me, you know. And now, all you have left is me. __**He**__ wanted what you have. He always did. I was his world. You shouldn't take me so lightly._

…

_So, do you plan on fighting your futile little battle for every minute of every day of the rest of your life? Such as it is?_

Yes.

_This is getting __**so**__ old...and I know a thing or two about old. Still, it fascinates me, how stubborn you are. You're fascinating._

Good for you.

_And insolent. Ah well. More work for me to do. Always more work. Were you always this much of a handful?_

…

_No, that's right. You were a quiet child, especially after that trip to Silent Hill. Walter did his job well. I still miss him, you know. He was such a well-behaved little boy. I loved that about him..._

…

_Anyway, get your sorry butt over to that peephole and have a good, long look. You're never going to see her again. Think about it. It's now or never. Go on._

...Eileen…

_...that's my boy. _

...I'm not your boy.

_Yes, you are. But we've been over that. My boy should have a good look at what he will never, ever have. You could have if you'd been good, remember. She was so close...but now she's gone forever. Watch her walk away, Henry...step by step as she leaves you._

...she's gone now...Eileen's gone.

_Yes, she is. You can stop looking now. Or maybe you can't. You miss her already._

...yes...

_Too late, Henry. Too late. Gone for good._

…

_You'll never talk to her again, never see her smile. You're never going to see her face again. Never. Think about __**that.**_

…

_Oh, stop sniveling. You don't cry, remember? Or so you used to tell yourself. You haven't cried since…well, since you broke down in the subway in front of her. That was a pathetic performance. Why she trusted you with her life after that is beyond me. And now you've screwed it all up again. So it's your own damn fault. _

…

_Anyway, that's over now. Time for your lesson. You knew it was coming. _

...lesson. Yes...

_You know the drill. Prepare yourself._

...where?

_Hmmm. I haven't decided. Let's try the left side. We haven't been there yet. The shirt should be enough. No, not the side. I want you to see this time. Give me that stomach of yours. You know, you could use a little more exercise. Oh well, too late for that. _

…

_Good. Yes, I have seen better muscles, but not too bad. A son I can be proud of._

I'm not...

_Yeah, yeah, whatever. Shut up and bleed for me, my love._

...SSSS!sssss...

_One...two...three...four. That's enough. Can't get too carried away. I want you to feel each one. You know, there's a beauty in blood. So fresh, so warm...it's distilled life. _

...nnnngghhh...

_Watch it run down your skin. There, see? I love the way it flows and forms little rivulets and OH it's pooling there so prettily, in that oddly deep belly button of yours. It's the blood of birth, back where it belongs after twenty-eight years. A gift from your mother._

…_  
_

_Yes, it hurts, but the pleasure of the sight is worth the pain. For me, anyway. Just think...if I'd killed you before you wouldn't have been able to see this for yourself. Lucky you._

…

_Feeling fuzzy, are we? Too much blood at once? Well, you did make a big mess this time. Guess that's my fault. Don't worry, I'll clean it up when I feel like it. Time to say good night, Henry. Sweet dreams._

* * *

_And welcome back. Thanks to me. It's all thanks to me, even if you won't admit it. But you're still bleeding, my boy, and I've had to keep an eye on you._

…how long…

_Only a few minutes, actually. Not that time matters any more to you or to me. But not too long. Can't have you dying on me, not yet, eh? I missed you, you know. While you were out. I missed talking to my beloved little boy._

...insane...

_Hmmm?_

...you. You're insane.

_Oh, my Henry. Insane is relative, and in my world __**you're**__ insane. I'm God here. I define sane. _

...that would be nice...

_What would, Henry, my love?_

To be insane.

_Why?_

At least this wouldn't really be happening. It would all be in my head.

_Well, you're definitely not insane. I wouldn't let you get out so easily. And this is happening, so deal with it. That's the point._

...real.

_Yes. Completely real. And guess what? I lied._

...what?

_You're going to see Eileen again. Later. I've decided to take pity on you._

…

_You're wondering why. What's the catch, right? Well, no catch. You're going to see your dream girl like you've never seen her before. _

...what?

_My Henry. I do love you, but you are woefully inarticulate. That's not a problem, not when you're God. I know what you're thinking, and what you want, and I'm going to give it to you. But for now..._

…

_Look who's come to see you, my boy._

...who?

_Don't tell me you don't remember. I know you never will forget. It hasn't been that long._

...no...it can't be.

_Yes, Henry, yes. Just as you remember. I know that you do. You'll never forget the last time someone touched you like that. And lucky for you, there's more of that coming._

...no!

_Oh yes. It's a little irregular, I know, having me here watching, watching something so...private, but I do so love seeing my boy when he's happy. And you're happy now, right? Or you will be, very soon._

NO! God, no...not...

_Come on. I saw the two of you, in that subway. She had you wrapped around her finger. You couldn't resist her in the end. She broke your heart. You would have given anything to bring her back, and you didn't even know why. But now, it's all changed. Why bother resisting now? _

...this is all WRONG!

_...but doesn't__** that**__ feel so right?_

…

_And __**that?**_

...stop...please...

_You don't really mean that. Let her prove it to you. Aren't you at all tempted?_

…

_...heh. I see that you are._

...why? WHY?

_You betrayed me, Henry. You betrayed me and left me for dead. I want you to know what that's like. Yes, I know about your father, but this is different. This is much worse. How does it feel, Henry? How does it feel to be betrayed not by a person, not by anybody or anything, but by __**your own body? Your own MIND?**_

...don't want...

_Yes, you do. Temptation, Henry. Remember. Mommy knows what you want, and Mommy always gives you what you __**need**__. Aren't you lucky that they're the same thing? But I'm making it easier for you. I'm bringing the temptation to you. You need do nothing but give in._

...ah!

_Yes, I guess a fingernail in raw flesh would hurt. Especially there. Too bad for you. She's developed quite a taste for blood since she died. That's fascinating in and of itself. But that's beside the point. She wants it, she wants __**you**__. She's been so sad that she couldn't give you what she promised. And now, she can. Can't you see how happy that makes her?_

...please…no…

_Give in, Henry. It's been a long time. Feel her upon you. You were too afraid to __**do**__ anything back there, so long ago...do it now. It's all for you. Go wild. You have your Mommy's blessing._

...stop…

_Well, it isn't up to you. You'll survive this, just like you've survived everything else so far. Or maybe you won't. There's a lot to be said for going out on a high note. And I'm so, so tired of waiting for Miss Galvin to join us. You know, it would be a lot more pleasant if you'd just allow it to be. _

…

_Oh well. Your loss. Have fun, my baby boy. It may be your last chance. And remember, you're never alone. I'm __**always**__ watching you._


	6. Into 302

As Frank's axe finally broke through the doorframe, Eileen tightened the knot around her waist. She felt silly being tied to a rope "just in case", but from what Henry had told her that night, his room was dangerous. Very dangerous. And if her suspicions were correct, it might still be. She just hoped that...

_Stop it. I can't think about that right now. _

Frank pulled at the door, but it still seemed to be stuck in place. He picked up the fire axe again and chopped away at the area around the doorknob for a few minutes, but even after the bolt lay exposed the door refused to open. He tugged at it one last time, then bent forward and rested his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

"It's as if something's holding it closed from the inside," he panted.

_Chains…Henry did mention chains…_

"There were chains across the door," she said. "When he was stuck in there."

"Chains?" Mrs. Adams asked.

"Yes. On the inside. He told me. Maybe…"

"Maybe," Father Kelley said as he rolled up his sleeves, "those chains keep the door from opening out…" He looked at Frank significantly. His mouth was a hard line.

"…but might not keep us from smashing it in," Frank said slowly. "It's worth a try." They backed up a few steps from the door, and squared their shoulders.

"On three," Father Kelley said. "One…two…"

WHAM! The two men slammed into the door. It bent, but didn't budge.

"Are you OK, Frank?" Mrs. Adams asked.

Frank shrugged and rolled his shoulder back. "Fine. Another try?"

"One…two…"

WHAM! The door splintered around its hinges. The four of them stood there surveying the damage.

"So we _can_ break it," Father Kelley said. "Whatever's holding it closed can't hold out forever. One more go should do it." Frank nodded.

As they gathered themselves for the next shot, Eileen stepped forward to stand between them. Frank gaped at her, but Father Kelley merely asked, "Are you sure you want to do this? It will hurt."

She shrugged. "No worse than anything else that's happened to me lately."

He grinned at her. "Count us down, Eileen."

"One…two…THREE!"

_WHAM!_

They staggered back from the door. Her shoulder was numb from the impact, but she didn't care. She could see the splintered wood around the hinges, see the screws holding the wood to the metal bent and twisted. For a moment, the door stood unmoving…then, with a metallic groan, the hinges pulled away from the shattered wood and it slowly toppled into the room. The two men grabbed its bottom edge and dragged it out into the hallway. Its inside surface was clean and white.

_No chains on the door. So __**why…**_

The room stood open now. The interior was completely black…she couldn't see a thing inside. The darkness looked as though it might swallow them alive. She peered behind her, to where the long ropes snaked down the hall and ended in large, round coils. There was enough rope there to pull her back from the top floor of the hotel across the street...plenty of length. She found that irrationally comforting.

Father Kelley was giving Frank final directions. "If we're not out in five minutes, pull. We'll tug once for OK, and twice for 'get help'. No tug means…"

"Get help _now_, right?" Mrs. Adams said. Eileen grinned at her.

"Got it," said Frank.

"Ready?" Father Kelley asked Eileen. She nodded, hoping that she looked more confident than she felt. He smiled and squeezed her hand, and together they stepped over the threshold into the blackness.

* * *

The first thing she noticed was the _smell_. _My God, the smell._ The whole place stank of rotted blood and rust and something else, something that made her stomach churn...a sweet, sickly stench. It permeated the air and seeped into her clothes and felt like mildew in her nostrils. She swallowed hard, and she saw Father Kelley blanch. She knew what it was because she'd smelled it before...it had been everywhere they'd gone that night, and then on Henry after he'd found Walter's body in his back room. It was the smell of decay and death. The last time she'd smelled it had been in her dream, when…

…_I can't think about that…I can't think about that…_

Outside, the afternoon was clear and bright, and the late-summer sun's warmth and light filtered into every nook and cranny of Ashfield. However, very little of either entered through the windows at the other side of the room. Rectangular patches of orange glow indicated their locations, but little else could be seen. The light switch by the door clicked ineffectively, and the room remained shrouded in darkness. The heat in the space was oppressive.

Eileen fumbled for her flashlight, and switched it on. It took a moment for details to resolve themselves, and several more for her to entirely digest what she was seeing. Everything was…orange. The floor, walls, and furniture...all orange. Orange and red and rusty. It reminded her of the throbbing red walls in the other apartment building, but for the color. Indistinct shapes glistened in the dancing beam of the light. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized the bookshelf, the TV on its stand, the pillow on the couch…just as she'd seen them in her dream. And…

_There they are. The chains. Hanging on either side of the doorframe, as if they'd been ripped off of the door. But Henry said that they wouldn't come off no matter what he'd tried…it makes no sense._

She reached for them automatically, but stopped short.

_There's blood on the chains, mixed in with the orange stuff…blood and…something else, too._

Father Kelley stepped forward. The carpet crunched under his first step, and squished wetly under his second. Eileen reached toward the kitchen counter and extended a finger to touch the crustiness. It was very warm. It gave slightly under the pressure, and then flaked away.

She felt movement under her hand. Before her eyes, the hole in the crust vibrated, and mutated. She yanked her finger back quickly as the surface swelled to fill the hole left by the break. It was moving…pulsating with energy and life. It reminded her of a special she'd seen on TV about volcanoes a couple of years ago...the orange lava roiling, flowing, liquid and glowing with solid pieces bobbing up and down in the stream.

"Careful," Father Kelley said softly. "Eileen, we don't know what this stuff will do."

"Have you ever…"

"No. Never."

Everything was covered in this moving, bubbling...stuff. Large reddish-brown blobs stretched across the linoleum floor of the kitchen area, flowing liquidly through the orange goo like oil in water. Two picture frames rested on top of a cabinet, which was pulled away from the hole in the wall. The pictures within the frames were just barely visible through the sludge, but she guessed that they were family photos, like she'd seen in her nightmare.

_Funny...somehow I never thought of him as having a family. I mean, everyone has family, but he never seemed like the family type. Don't know why not..._

The ceiling fan had fallen down at some point, and taken chunks out of the wooden table in the front room. It lay in a twisted heap of metal on the floor. A few cardboard boxes sat next to it, partly filled with personal possessions. Photos, videotapes, books…there wasn't a lot, really. Very little in the apartment remained to be packed. It looked as if he was just starting to move in, not just starting to move out. There were few clues to his personality, or signs of a life lived.

"You two OK in there?" Frank called from the outside. "Can't see a thing."

"We're fine," she replied. "Keep that door open."

Father Kelley wrapped his hand in a handkerchief and carefully opened the door to the laundry room. It was dark inside, but uninhabited, and untouched by the orange goo.

"What's this?" Father Kelley asked.

"A...oh, my God," Eileen said. "Sorry, Father. I think I know what this is. This must be one of the holes that Henry used to go back and forth between here and the other places. He told me about them. I'd never seen one, not until now...I couldn't see them before."

"But now you can."

"Yes."

"Is that significant, do you think?"

"I don't know."

The red markings surrounding the hole were glowing faintly. The hole itself gaped open, dark, but silent. There was blood spattered around the dryer. Boxes littered the floor, their contents strewn about and soaked in the blood. Father Kelley closed the door again, gently, and they headed down the hall.

The hallway was even darker than the front room. As they made their way carefully along, the carpet squelched under each step, but didn't crunch as it had before. Eileen searched its surface, but no sign of a crust was present, and no footsteps could be seen in the red muck. The hallway terminated after the first set of doors, and the wall at the end had an enormous, ragged hole, with clean edges.

"What happened here?" Father Kelley asked. "Do you know?"

"The pickaxe," Eileen said. "That's why…"

"What?"

"We ended up in the other room...the other 302, when Joseph lived there."

"Joseph…wasn't he the writer who used to live here? Did they ever find him?"

"No. But we did. Kind of. He was in the ceiling. He told us what we had to do…what Henry had to do. I'm sorry, Father. It doesn't make any sense."

"That's all right. It doesn't have to."

"There was a pickaxe stuck in the wall, right here. Henry brought it back here with him. That must be how he made this hole. This wall blocks off the back of the apartment. It has to. The apartment is too small otherwise." She had no desire to tell him what Henry had found back there, and it didn't seem relevant just then.

She bent to peer through the hole, but Father Kelley stepped in front of her. "That can wait, Eileen. Let's try the doors."

The door on the right was sealed by the layer of muck. It took their combined weight to break it open. Inside was a bathroom, much like hers, except for...

"Another hole," Father Kelley muttered. "This one's blocked, though."

The second Hole seemed to be completely filled with some hard substance. Debris littered the floor, which was splashed with old blood as well. The bathtub held several inches of rotting blood, and a wad of soaked fabric...a piece of clothing, maybe, or a towel. She didn't dare reach in to find out. There seemed to be something blocking the toilet, but that also didn't bear close investigation. It clearly hadn't been used in days. Nothing in there had...except, perhaps, for the toothbrush that lay abandoned on the floor in the debris. But the blood on its handle was dry. So it had been a while since it had been used for whatever it had been used for.

That left the door across the hallway. Alone of the doors in the apartment, it remained unblocked by the orange crust, which flowed across its surface but didn't seal its edges. As Father Kelley reached for the knob, Eileen's hand shot out and grabbed his.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered.

"What?"

"Something's in there," she said. "I heard it move. I know it. Maybe..."

"Eileen, we could be wrong," Father Kelley said quietly. "If so...do you want me to go in first?"

Eileen shook her head. "No. I'll...I'll do it. I owe him that."

Father Kelley nodded and turned the knob.

* * *

The door swung inward. Waves of damp heat rolled over them from the room beyond, and Eileen had to close her eyes against it for a few seconds before she could venture inside.

The windows of the room were faint orange rectangles in the darkness, as the front windows had been. A tiny bit of light filtered through, just enough to illuminate the familiar outlines of a desk and chair, a dresser and a bedside table, and a bed. The room was filled with the same stink of blood and decay, but the smell of death was stronger, and the air was very heavy and suffocating and cloyingly sweet. She swallowed hard.

There was something on the bed...something large. It sprawled on top of the covers, motionless, limbs at strange angles from its body. It seemed too shrunken, too static, to be alive…and it had to be the source of the horrible stench. Eileen squared her shoulders and stepped closer, training her flashlight on the bed.

The blanket on top was twisted and bunched. It was the same orange as everything else, and she couldn't tell what color it had originally been. There was blood everywhere, mixed in with the orange goo. One corner of the blanket was wrapped around something long and thin, and it was a second or two before she realized what she was looking at. Through the heavy denim fabric, she could just make out the shape of a leg, and at the near end was a foot in a boot. She knew that foot as well as she knew her own, but it had always been in motion before, running, walking, jumping forward as he swung the axe through the air…she'd never seen it so _still_. Her heart sank. After a few seconds, her eyes met Father Kelley's across the bed, and she saw the same thoughts in his.

_Oh God, no…we're too late…he's…_

Then, the foot twitched. She nearly jumped out of her skin, but she dug her nails into the palm of her free hand and forced herself to stay calm. Maybe…

Eileen opened her mouth to speak, but she gagged on the putrid air. She steeled herself and tried again.

"Henry?"

The leg stilled suddenly. Her flashlight moved upwards. The jeans were dirty, soaked through in dark orange and red, but intact. The bottom of a shirt lay wetly over the top of the jeans.

_Could he be…_

"Henry...is that you?"

The shirt was in the same shape as the jeans, its original color masked by the red-orange stains. It draped loosely over the body beneath. As she moved the flashlight up, she saw the familiar chest pockets, the unbuttoned shirt collar...and the rounded neckline of the white T-shirt underneath. The scent of that T-shirt was etched indelibly in her memory, from down in the hospital. She remembered hugging him and burying her nose in his shoulder and idly wondering what detergent he used.

She shook herself out of it. _That was a lifetime ago. This is now._

As her light found the first inch of flesh above the white shirt, now not so white, she caught her breath. The skin was covered in the orange stuff, too.

Suddenly, something rustled wetly, and a hand stretched across the bright circle of illumination. The hand was thin, so very thin...its skin was a sickly grayish-pink under the slime. Father Kelley muttered something under his breath and crossed himself. She could see sweat running down his face in rivulets, and her own neck was damp.

"Henry...it's Eileen," she said quietly.

She nearly jumped again when a long, rasping sound came out of the darkness. It took her a second or two to recognize it as a human breath.

"Henry."

"…Mom...no..."

The voice was almost inaudible, but she would have known it anywhere.

"Henry?"

"…stop it…can't be…"

The hand wavered, its bony fingers twitching indecisively.

"What?" Her stomach fell to her knees. "Henry, it's me. Eileen."

Silence. She held her breath, but there was no sound. A drop of sweat fell into her eye, and she blinked it away. Eileen was starting to wonder if she'd just been hearing things when…

"…no."

_No? No what? He doesn't __**believe**__ me?_

She felt eyes upon her. They were scanning her, and she stood still and let them do what they needed to do. It seemed to take forever.

"Go." The whisper was flat and emotionless.

"We're not going anywhere without you."

"No. Go. Now." Then, another long, rasping breath.

Father Kelley stepped forward. "Henry, my name is Arthur Kelley. I'm a priest." There was a faint rustling, and now the eyes were no longer upon her. "This apartment is engulfed in evil. We need to get you out of here. You're going to die if we don't."

"Get out. While you can."

"No," Eileen said, more firmly. "Not without you."

"Can't leave."

"You have to," Father Kelley said.

"Henry, please," Eileen asked, softly. "What Father Kelley says is true. You're going to die in here. Don't let him win."

Silence. The eyes were back upon her.

"...too late."

"No, it's not too late. You're still alive."

Raucous, rusty laughter filled the room…barking, howling laughter with no shred of amusement behind it. It echoed off of the walls of the little room and rang harshly in her ears, and went on and on without interruption for an eternity. Finally, it ended in a fit of dry coughing.

_At least he's strong enough to laugh._

"That's because…my mommy loves me."

Had she heard that correctly? "What?"

"Get out before she takes you too."

"NO."

The arm dropped, and Henry sat up on the bed. Eileen shrank back in shock. His face was gaunt, skeletal, completely covered in blood and the orange sludge. His hair was matted with the stuff, and his lips were cracked and peeling. Open cuts crisscrossed his sunken cheeks. Eileen's stomach turned as she saw the bubbling orange ooze in them as well. His bloodshot green eyes blazed unblinking from deep within their sockets. Despite the flashlight shining in his face, his pupils were dilated wide, and reflected the light redly as he glared at her.

"Leave me alone here," he hissed. "It's _too late_. Don't you get it?"

_Too late?_

Out of the corner of her eye, Eileen saw Father Kelley moving around the bed to the other side, but she said nothing and kept her eyes locked to Henry's. She bent closer.

"Get what?"

"Her. She's here, now. Everywhere." The words tumbled from his mouth in a frantic whisper. "She needs me. She needs me to give myself to her, or she'll find someone else. I can't go, or someone else will have to..."

"Listen to me, Henry." She took a step closer, and he shrank back. "Nobody else will have to. Ever. We're going to take you out of here, and nobody else will ever live in this Godforsaken place again." Eileen had no idea what would happen, actually, but she had to say _something_...

"No. You don't know – "

At that moment, a drop of sweat slid down her forehead and fell from the tip of her nose onto his hand. She watched in horror as it hissed and smoked, and seemed to burn a hole through the orange goo. His face contorted, and he gritted his teeth in pain, neck corded like a vulture's. Words came to her from the depths of memory.

"_She's being taken over...she's Number 20...'The Mother Reborn'..."__Joseph's words, from down in that other 302...what was happening to me then?_

She squinted at his hand. The flesh around the spot was gray and ashen. What she could see of his hair seemed darker than she remembered, too, almost black. That might be from sweat and blood, or…

_Or…_

A vision of a large, round, red room floated through her head. She could hear the sound of grinding machinery from somewhere in front of her, and the sound of swirling liquid, but all that she could see were the two figures down by the side of the room…a familiar one in a shirt and jeans, running from another familiar figure in a dark coat with long dark hair. Henry, and Walter. But Walter had been blond before, with a blue coat…now, he had darkened to grays and blacks, like in an old photograph. Just like…

_Being taken over…oh my God._

"Henry..."

His eyes were blazing.

"GET OUT!"

From behind him, something dark and metallic glinted. Father Kelley's lips moved silently.

_One…_

"Henry, I'm sorry," she said.

_Two…_

Henry stared at her, and for the first time ever she could see straight into his head.

…_for what, Eileen?_

She saw comprehension hit him a moment too late. On _three,_ Father Kelley brought his flashlight down on Henry's head. He dropped to the bed with a _thump_, and Father Kelley pulled his cuffs over his hands, scooped Henry up in his arms and hurried out the door and down the narrow hallway.

Frank's eyes were very wide as Father Kelley stepped through the door with his burden. Mrs. Adams gasped, and crossed herself.

"Father...what..." she sputtered.

"Give me my bag. I'm taking him straight to the hospital," Father Kelley said. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Eileen, would you mind..."

Frank picked up the black leather bag as Eileen quickly untied the rope from around Father Kelley's waist, then did the same for herself. Henry's long frame looked very small cradled in the priest's huge arms, all elbows and knees. The orange goop that had covered him was gone, leaving behind only stained fabric and gray skin coated thickly in blood. He stirred as the light hit his closed eyes, and his thin chest heaved. Blood oozed from his mouth…she could see the purple hole in the skin on his hand where her sweat had burned him. Everything seemed surreal.

Father Kelley fixed Frank with a firm glare. "Hold the door open until we get back to get his things. Then nail it shut and never let anyone back into there again. Mark my words, Frank. This has gone far enough. Too many people have died. You've made this mistake twice already. Don't make it a third time."

Frank looked from Henry to Father Kelley, and then back to Henry. He nodded.

"Father," Eileen said, "can I…"

"If you wouldn't mind," he replied. "In case he wakes up."

They hurried down the hall, and Eileen held the door as Father Kelley eased both of them through into the stairwell. Then, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Can you press five on that? I've got the hospital on speed-dial."

She did, and handed him the phone.

"Seth? It's Tom. Got one for you…name's Henry Townshend. Yeah, him…bad, pretty bad. No, I don't know, it's like nothing I've seen before…that'd be great, thanks. We'll be there in a couple of minutes."

* * *

A little over a minute later, she was in the back seat of Father Kelley's small car with Henry's head in her lap as the three of them covered the short distance to the hospital. He was still unconscious, huddled on the seat and wrapped in an old woolen blanket, and she bent over him protectively as they navigated the busy streets. His head rolled gently back and forth on her thigh, and she put a hand under it to support it.

As Father Kelley hurried Henry out of the double doors of the building, she'd taken a brief glance at him. He'd looked bad inside his apartment, and under the harsh lights of the hallway, but in daylight…now, she couldn't bring herself to look at the face in her lap, and she felt so horribly guilty about that. Thank God that he was out of that place…but now…

_Oh my God…oh my God…oh my God…help him. Please._

And then they were at the doors of the St. Jerome's emergency room, and there was a gurney at the curb with three nurses waiting beside it. She lifted Henry's shoulders as Father Kelley eased him out of the car (_he weighs almost nothing, like a little child_) and moved him swiftly to the gurney. One of the nurses brushed back the hair from Henry's face, and Eileen saw her friendly face struggle to contain her horror.

"Don't touch him without gloves on," Father Kelley murmured to the nurse in charge. "It may burn him." The nurse nodded.

Eileen's hand was on the gurney now, gripping it tightly. "I have to go with him," she said to nobody in particular. "I have to."

"Miss, you can't," another nurse said. "We have to get to work on him immediately. I'm sorry."

"But I _have to_," Eileen said. "I can't leave him."

"Eileen, let them do their work," Father Kelley said quietly. His large hand settled on her arm gently but forcefully, and she let go. And then the gurney and nurses were gone inside the building, and she and Father Kelley were left standing next to his old car.

"They're going to do their best," he said to her. "I've brought them people in trouble before, and they've never let me down."

"Really?"

"Really," he said with a smile.

"Nobody like Henry, though."

He shook his head. "No. Nobody like Henry. But if anybody can take care of him, they can."

"But…he's in terrible shape, I mean, you _saw_ him, and he's so weak, and – oh _no_ – he hasn't got any money…at least, I don't think he has…and neither do I…and…"

Father Kelley smiled down at her. "Don't worry about that right now. It's not important. And, anyway, the head of the hospital and I have an understanding. The most needy cases get what they need regardless. Given what Henry has done for this town, what he's done for everyone who lives here…I don't think that will even be a question."

She nodded. "I'm…I'm sorry. I don't know…"

"It's OK. You're still in shock. Tell you what. Let's go back and start getting his things out of his apartment. That will give you something to do."

"But I should be here."

"You can't do any good here. Neither of us can. The hospital will call me if they need anything right away. In a few hours, once things have settled down, we can call them and give them your contact information. For now, we can only pray and hope."

She smiled up at him. "You think of everything. Thank you."

"It's what I do."


	7. St Jerome's

Later that night, Eileen called the hospital, but nobody there was willing to tell her anything. No matter how much she begged and cajoled, nobody would even admit that he was _there_.

"Henry. Henry Townshend," she said, for the tenth time. "He came in this morning. You've _got_ to remember him."

"There's no such patient here," the nurse said for the tenth time.

Eileen gritted her teeth. This was going nowhere, fast. "Who's the doctor on duty?"

"Doctor Morgan."

_Yes! _"Let me talk to him."

He had been her doctor when she was admitted. Her memories were fuzzy, but she remembered that he'd been very kind and willing to answer her questions once she was conscious. Maybe…

"Eileen?" came the voice on the other end of the line. "Is that you?"

"Doctor! Thank you for talking to me."

"Eileen – "

"Doctor, you've got to help me. Nobody's telling me anything, but I know that he's there. We brought him in ourselves, Father Kelley and I – "

She heard a sigh over the phone. "That's because there's nothing to tell you just yet."

"What do you mean…nothing to tell me? Why won't they even admit that he's there?" _Oh my God…he can't mean…_

"Because of the publicity. You remember. Look, he's alive, but he's in bad shape. Really bad shape. But you know that too."

"How bad?"

There was a pause.

"We're not sure that we've been able to determine the full extent of his injuries yet."

"How can you not know?" Eileen spluttered. "Can't you…take X-rays or something?"

"We've done that. We've been over him head to toe. But until he's fully awake, we can't _talk_ to him."

…_oh._

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I didn't mean to tell you how to do your job…but…"

"Don't worry about it. Eileen, what the _hell_ happened to him? When he was here a week ago, he wasn't anywhere near this bad."

"I don't know. But I think…well, he was in his room for all of the last week, and I'm pretty sure that _something_ got to him."

"Something left over from…"

"Yeah."

She could almost hear the doctor shaking his head. "That's got to be it. If I hadn't seen him here last week with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it. He looks as if…"

"Doctor?"

"Eileen, I don't want to make this harder than it is."

_Oh God. This is getting worse and worse._

"Please tell me. I need to know."

A deep breath. "I shouldn't be telling you this…but he looks as if he's been tortured. For months. There are old injuries that would have taken weeks to heal. Broken bones, deep cuts, torn muscles, and worse…you name it. And, well, you _saw_ him. I've never seen anything like it. Never."

Eileen couldn't speak. She knew what the next sentence would have been, even though the doctor would never say it to her.

_Eileen, Henry shouldn't be alive._

The voice on the other end of the phone was shaken. "If I'd known…he shouldn't ever have left. I'd have made sure of that. Would have locked his door myself."

Something about the doctor's tone of voice brought her speech back. "Left?"

"You didn't know? He was admitted here too, late the next morning. The police that brought him in said that he staggered out of the building and passed out on the sidewalk. He had a bullet wound to the arm and a pulled muscle in his groin, and plenty of cuts and bruises, too, but he was basically OK. He was as tired as anybody I've ever seen, but bed rest would have taken care of that. We wanted to keep him here for a day or so for observation, but a few hours after that we found that he'd disappeared."

…_that means that…he must have left after he came to speak to me. Snuck out. I had no idea…if I'd known…_

"Has he said anything, Doctor?"

"That's the thing. He's been drifting in and out, but he hasn't said a word. And, Eileen…"

"Yes?"

"When he's been conscious, he's – I don't like what I've been seeing in his eyes."

Eileen felt her heart slowly sinking into her shoes.

"I'm sorry," the voice on the other end said. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's OK. Thank you. I needed to know."

"Do you know anything, Eileen? Anything about this – whatever it was that did this to him? Anything that could help us figure out what happened?"

"No, Doctor. I wish to God that I did, but I don't. Nothing like this happened…before."

A faint beeping sound came over the line.

"Eileen, I have to go. Tell you what," the doctor said. "Come by tomorrow morning, and give the nurse at the desk your name. I'll tell her to let you come up."

"Thank you so much, Doctor."

"Don't thank me yet. You may wish that you hadn't."

* * *

The next morning, Eileen drove the few blocks to St. Jerome's. It looked much better than it had that night that she'd limped down the hallways, and it wasn't as if she hadn't spent two days here reminding herself that everything – including this hospital – was back to normal. Still, she couldn't help a shiver as she approached the reception desk.

"My name's Eileen Galvin," she told the nurse at the desk. "I'm here to see Henry Townshend."

The nurse didn't even look up. "I'm sorry, there's nobody here by that name."

"I know that he's here. Please…it's important."

"Honey, I hear that all the time," the nurse replied, then stopped short. She peered at Eileen closely. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

"Probably. I was in here for a couple of days a week ago."

"Yes…now I remember. South Ashfield Heights."

"Yeah. That's why Henry's here, too."

"I read about it in the papers. Sounded horrible."

"Yes, it was," Eileen said, nodding quickly. "That's why I need to see him. He … I owe him my life. Doctor Morgan told me that I could see him."

The nurse's expression softened. "Let me call the doctor for you." She picked up the phone. "Doctor? I have a Miss Eileen Galvin here to see Henry Townshend …yes…yes…yes, it's her…"

_Maybe being in the papers isn't all bad. _

"No, Doctor…I'll tell her…OK." She put the phone down and smiled at Eileen. "He's in Room 315. You can go up now. I'm supposed to tell you that he's awake, but that you may be shocked by what you see."

"Thanks."

"Up the stairs and to the right."

Eileen started toward the stairwell, then stopped and turned around.

"Um...are the rooms numbered?"

"Of course," the nurse said, with a puzzled expression. "Why wouldn't they be?"

* * *

Indeed, the rooms were numbered. But Eileen had never been up to this wing before, and she walked past 315 a couple of times before she realized that it was a hospital room and not...well, she didn't know what it should have been, except that it wasn't what she expected.

A single nurse sat just inside the door, facing the large window that ran from a few feet above the floor all the way to the ceiling. She seemed familiar somehow. There was a stack of paperwork in front of her, but something inside the window was holding her attention for now. As Eileen approached the door, the nurse turned and smiled.

"Miss Galvin. I was hoping you'd come."

"Aren't you Nurse Rachael? From 106?"

"That's me," Rachael said.

"How is he?"

"Well, he's malnourished, and he's weak. And he's got a bullet hole in his arm. He's lost a lot of blood, too, but that wasn't too hard to take care of. He's clearly been through a lot," Rachael said. "Oh, and he had a lump on his head."

"That was our fault," Eileen said.

"Nothing to worry about. Physically, anyway. He'll heal up soon enough." Rachael shook her head. "It's going to be a while before he's _completely_ OK, though."

"…_I don't like what I've been seeing in his eyes."_

Eileen nodded. "How is he?"

"I'm no expert, but from what the doctors say, there's been... damage. We don't know how much yet. They kept him sedated all night." She dropped her voice. "Frank told me what happened, Eileen. Sounds like he went through hell and back."

"He did. At least when I was there. A lot happened before that, though. And, after…"

Rachael shook her head. "It was bad enough, afterward. Half of the building ended up here, for one thing or another, you know. If not for him, and for you…"

Silence. Eileen really didn't want to think about that.

Rachael patted her hand. "Don't worry, we're all taking good care of him."

"I know. Thank you."

"He's going to need a lot of help, though. More than we can give him here. He's being transferred to Brookhaven tomorrow."

"Brookhaven? That's a mental hospital!"

"Not all of it. But yes, he is going to the psychiatric ward," Rachael said, suddenly serious. "Eileen, he's got to go. You know better than anyone just what he went through that night. And none of us know what happened after he came back. Not yet. He hasn't said a word about any of it since he arrived. But if he's been through half of what the doctors suspect happened to him, there's no other option. He's got a long road ahead of him."

"But that's in Silent Hill! Isn't there anywhere else?"

"I know...it's the last place I'd want to send him, especially after what happened. But it's the only one around here. Please believe me. It's the best thing for him, and they'll take good care of him."

"It's just so hard to believe."

"I know. But it really is what he needs. You can see for yourself. But…"

"What?"

"Brace yourself. It's not pretty."

Eileen duly braced herself. She reached for the door, turned the knob and entered the room.

The large room was divided in two by glass or acrylic or something like it, with holes for air circulation at regular intervals along the top. In front of her, a brushed metal ledge ran across the glass with a single chair underneath. A door in the glass provided the only entry to the other side. She pulled out the chair as quietly as she could and lowered herself into it, resting her elbows on the ledge.

The counter and chair were repeated in the little room on the other side of the glass, which also held a metal sink and toilet and a bed that jutted out from the wall like a huge shelf. It also held a single occupant. He was seated on the edge of the hard metal bed with his arms resting on his thighs, looking out of the little barred window, which, Eileen calculated, overlooked the garden in the back. The long-sleeved hospital shirt and pants hung like curtains off of his bony frame; he was so narrow and thin that she only recognized him by the mop of brown hair and the red lines on his sunken cheeks. His white hands fidgeted restlessly, their fingers picking and scratching at each other. A single pillow was propped up against the wall at the end of the bed, unused.

"He's awake," she said to nobody in particular.

"Woke up just a few minutes ago," Nurse Rachael replied. "The doctor was surprised, but he said that we should keep from sedating him again unless it became necessary."

Eileen hadn't slept much the previous night. Whenever she had closed her eyes, all that she saw was the orange ooze running down the walls of 302 and crunching under her feet and bubbling like lava in the cuts on Henry's face…and then, that brief glimpse of him lying limp and sunken in Father Kelley's arms, and in her lap on the way to the hospital. Somehow, although she'd spent the whole night lying in bed with those images running through her head, she hadn't realized just how…_what…_

Her brain leapt from thought to thought as if trying to evade what was so plain in front of her.

_That metal bed must hurt to sit on. I wonder if it's cold in there, it looks as though it might be. Those hospital clothes can't be very warm. How terrible, to have to wash up and everything without any privacy. He always seemed like such a private type. It all looks like a prison cell...like the ones we saw in the kids' prison..._

It was at that moment that it hit her like a wrecking ball.

_It was only a week…a week! But look at what's happened to him in just a week. He's a shadow of himself…no, not even that. Is he still the Henry I knew for those hours? Or is that Henry gone forever? Replaced by this shell? He doesn't even seem like he did when we got him out of there…now, he looks so lost…_

_Through hell and back twice. No, three times now. How much can one man take? What happened to him in that room? Is it too late?_

_You should have checked on him sooner. He saved your goddamn LIFE more times than you can count, and you couldn't even be bothered to make sure that he was OK. And look what's happened now. This is your fault, that he's like this. All your fault. If you'd given him half a thought, none of this would have happened. You shouldn't be here…_

She was about to stand up to leave when his head turned to the glass. Under the single light over the bed, his eyes were dark holes, and she couldn't tell if they saw her. Then he stiffened in shock, and she knew that they did.

He sat very still for a moment, then stood up slowly, gradually unfolding himself. Henry was tall, Eileen remembered, around six feet or so. She wasn't sure exactly how tall he was, since his shoulders had slumped tiredly for most of the time that he wasn't shooting or swinging at something. Now, though…now he looked even longer and stretched-out, like an old rubber band.

He walked the few steps to the glass, shakily, and as he dropped into the chair she could almost hear his bones hitting the brushed steel. His fingers splayed across the counter, and his hands gripped its edge tightly. As he leaned forward, his face seemed as if it would split in two from the smile that stretched his cracked and peeling lips. His eyes stared at her from beneath his hair, two bright green circles in cavernous sockets.

_Like death warmed over. I know what that means now._

Eileen didn't know where to begin. "Henry, I…"

"Eileen," he said low, as he lifted a hand to the glass. His voice was scratchy, and it came out as a croak. There were faint red lines on his palm. She hadn't seen them before, in his room, probably because of the other dirt and muck. She stared at the circular markings…they seemed familiar somehow, but she couldn't place them. The sleeve of his shirt fell back, and the muscles in his forearm slid like cords beneath the skin as he pressed against the window.

She put her hand to the glass opposite his. "It's good to see you," she blurted. He nodded, and kept staring at her as if mesmerized, still smiling. His cracked lip was starting to bleed. As she looked at him, she realized that his gaze was unfocused, and his smile was unearthly. Her eye slewed back to the red circle on his hand...was it glowing faintly now, or was that just a trick of the light?

His sunken eyes searched hers, and his lips parted. She strained to hear his whisper through the thick glass.

"_Mother?_"

Her blood turned to ice in an instant. She couldn't move. His chair fell to the floor as he jumped to his feet and scratched against the glass with his broken fingernails and pressed the knife-blade of his nose into it, never taking his eyes off of her. She could see now that both of his palms bore the bright red circles. His lips moved rapidly. The words were just a hiss...at first.

"..thermothermother_mothermotherMOTHERMOTHER__**MOTHEEERRR!**_**"**

He was screaming, louder than she thought possible. His pupils were dilated now, enormous black holes ringed in green, and the whites of his eyes were red. Eileen shrank back into the chair. Somewhere behind her, she could hear Nurse Rachael paging the doctor.

"_**MOTHERRRRR-it's-her-she's-here-she's-here. Where...ARE...YOU?**_"

There were streaks of blood on the glass. It was running down his arm to his hand from the bandage where the bullet hole was. Still was. Had to be.

…_Henry…_

His nose was still squashed against the glass, and he was whispering at her with an ungodly grin on his face.

"…mothermothermothermothermothermothermother…"

Then, he started to scream again, loud, raw, wordless screams. His bloody hand clenched and slammed into the glass, over and over again, and blood splattered onto the sleeve of his shirt and all over the glass.

_Henry...oh my God!_

"Miss Galvin, please step back."

Eileen stumbled away from the door. Rachael hurried into the room and pulled him away from the glass, and Henry's howling faded to a whisper.

"_Mother_…wheredidyougo…I_need_youuuuu...don't leave me alone..._please_..."

He began to cry weakly. Rachael pressed a needle to his arm. Henry's whimpering died away into muttering and then into nothing as he sagged into her arms. She laid him on the metal bed, and his head lolled sideways. Then, she slipped the pillow under his head, straightened his shirt and wiped his face, and padded out of the room.

Eileen was speechless.

Rachael's eyes were full of sympathy. "It looks worse than it is. He's strong, honey. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have made it this far. None of us would." She sighed. "He's had a close call, but the worst is over."

Just then, Dr. Morgan came running down the hallway.

"Is he – "

"Sedated," Nurse Rachael said. "But he gave Miss Galvin a good scare." Her smile was weak.

Dr. Morgan turned to look into the room. Eileen saw his eyes linger for a moment on the splash of blood that was dripping down the inside of the partition. He turned to her.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'll be fine." _Eventually._

Dr. Morgan stared at her critically, then nodded. "If you're sure. Like I said, he's in bad shape."

"He was calling for his mother," Nurse Rachael said. "Any idea why?"

Eileen shook her head. "No. But that was why Walter Sullivan…did what he did. He wanted his mother back. It's got to have something to do with that. I know it." She didn't want to say any more, not yet.

"…_because my mommy loves me…"_

Something was poking at her brain, some thought that refused to take shape no matter how hard she tried…

The doctor was talking. "He'll be OK, but it's going to take a long time."

_And now I see why. _

Eileen looked past the dripping blood, toward the hard metal bed. Now, he looked so peaceful, just lying there asleep…as if lost in a dream. But she knew that this dream was one that she couldn't enter, ever, no matter how much she wished she could. She would have given anything to do so.

_Dreams…_

"_Henry…do you think that maybe…this is all a dream?" she'd asked as they rested on the burned-out steps of the orphanage in the forest._

_His head snapped around. "What?" _

"_This. It's like some kind of nightmare…but everything seems so real…and you're here. It's the most real dream I've ever had. If it is a dream. I don't know." She shook her head. _

"_Yeah. I don't know what it is, either. But…" He stared off into the distance for a second or two. "If it's not a dream… what is it…"_

"_I wish we knew."_

"_It was a lie." There was an edge in his voice that puzzled her. "That's all I had for her. A weak, useless lie."_

"_What was?"_

_He turned back to her. His face was unreadable. That mask of his was back in place again, the one that he seemed to hide behind when he didn't want to talk about something. She had quickly grown to resent that in their short time together. He didn't have to hide from her. Why did he __**do**__ that?_

"_Nothing," he said as he struggled to his feet. "You should stay here and rest. I'll be back as soon as I can."_

_She shook her head. "No, I'm OK. Let's get going." _

_He'd helped her up, and they'd trudged off in search of the next piece of the carved wooden doll…_

_It felt like a dream then. Still does. And now…it really wasn't a dream…I wish it had been._

"Do you think they'll let me visit?" _I don't even need to talk to him. I don't deserve that. I just want to see him…_

The doctor smiled. "You're the only person he's responded to in any way. I'm going to recommend it, and I don't think that they'll say no."


	8. At Brookhaven

The next day, Dr. Morgan called Eileen to tell her that Henry had been taken to Brookhaven, as planned. He hadn't woken up once since she left, he said, and it was probably just as well; that way, the strain of the transfer would be minimized. As far as he knew, everything had gone well.

But even then, Eileen fretted. She knew that there was no need to, but that didn't help. Of all of the places in the world that he had to go…

…_it had to be Silent Hill. Figures._

_But Nurse Rachael was right. There's no reason not to send him there. It's a good hospital, better than St. Jerome's and Ashfield General for these things, so I've heard. They wouldn't have sent him there if they hadn't thought that it was the best thing for him. But still…_

_God damn it._

At least he was away from Room 302.

She went back to work the next Monday, earlier than she'd planned. It seemed that everybody in the building managed to find their way to her desk that first day to see how she was doing and express their sympathy. The fussing and tut-tutting of her coworkers was a little more annoying than she'd expected it to be, but at least work was still work, and she was no longer stuck staring at the walls of her apartment. She told herself that everything was going to be OK, that everything would be just like it had been before. After a few days, she started to relax a little, and it seemed as if normality was starting to return in bits and pieces, in spite of it all. That was good.

But in the evenings, she could sometimes hear Frank hammering away down the hallway, repairing the wrecked door, and there were times when she couldn't push it all away any more, no matter how hard she tried.

* * *

Even if the doctors hadn't told Eileen that her help was vital to Henry's recovery, she would have come to Brookhaven just to see him. As it turned out, Dr. Morgan had been right; the doctor in charge of Henry's case called her and asked her if she could visit once per week to spend some time with him. It would help him feel more at home, he said, and give him someone to connect with, something familiar to look forward to. She didn't have to do anything, just be there for him. She agreed readily.

_Hell, if they'd asked me to dance on a table with a lampshade on my head, I'd have done it if it was going to help. Bet __**that**__ might just make him smile…maybe._

So, before dawn the next Saturday morning, she got up, shoved some food into her empty stomach even though she wasn't hungry, started up her little car and drove to Silent Hill.

The first time she entered Brookhaven Hospital, a shiver ran down her spine. She wasn't sure why, and she dug her nails into her palms to drive it away.

_Get over it, Eileen. It's just a hospital, the same as any other._

As the nurse escorted her up to the third floor, she realized that she had no idea what she'd find when she entered Henry's room. Her imagination ran wild. Was he going to be a raving lunatic, chained to the wall like an animal? No, they didn't do that any more, as far as she knew. Would he be calm, collected, but permanently two cards short of a full deck? Would he be happy to see her? Or…or would he be cold and distant, and refuse to see her at all? Oh God, could she bear that?

Then they were standing in front of a door labeled "S3", and as the nurse unlocked the door, she knew that this was it. There was no question, no choice. She had to know.

_It doesn't matter how…how bad it's going to be. I'll deal with it. I have to._

She needn't have worried. He was in bed, under several layers of sheets and blankets with his hair spread over the pillow, deep in sleep. He was still as skeletal as he'd been at St. Jerome's, and his body barely lifted the covers, but somehow he seemed more rested.

"He's being kept sedated most of the time," the nurse explained, "until he gets stronger. Being awake and conscious is too much strain on him. He needs rest more than anything else right now."

Eileen nodded. That made sense to her. She put her bag on the floor and pushed the metal chair in the corner over next to his bed. The blankets were pulled up to his shoulders, but a single hand rested on the thick wool. As she sat there, watching him, she saw his eyelid twitch, just a little.

_I wonder what his dreams are like now._

"May I…"

"Of course."

She took the hand in hers, and remembered the last time she had touched that hand, as she lay in her bed recuperating in St. Jerome's. It had been large and warm then, as it had been from the moment he had woken her in that bloody room in the bowels of hell. He had held her hand in his for the first time after she got to her feet, and that hand had been her strength for so long. Whenever she'd been cold, or tired, or broken down in tears, all she'd needed was the touch of his hand to give her strength. But now, it was cold and thin, drained of that strength, and what was left felt like a bag of loose bones. She held it tightly and thought warming thoughts, and did not let go for hours until it was time to leave. She wiped tears from her cheeks all the way home, but she was back the next week at the same time, and the week after that.

* * *

For the first few weeks, there wasn't much to do. Eileen just sat in the chair in his little room on the third floor, watching him sleep and holding his hand, and looking at his too-thin face in the light that filtered through the barred window. She could have sworn that the furrow in his brow softened just a little, that his jaw relaxed just a little, but she couldn't be sure. Still, maybe she was making a difference.

That was a good thing, as she was his only visitor. She didn't have to ask about that…it was obvious. The way that the nurse at the front desk smiled when she arrived each week told her everything. Something wasn't right there.

_Where is his family? I bugged Frank for the emergency contact address off of his rental form, so I could let them know where he was. There was no phone number, just an address, which was strange. The address was in Ashfield...they should have gotten my letter ages ago...so why aren't they here, too? It's not asking for much. He needs so little right now._

She talked to him for hours on end, just to break the silence. She would tell him about her job, about a movie she'd seen on TV or something funny she'd heard, the latest gossip about their neighbors, whatever she could think of…anything except _that_. The hours went by more quickly that way, and she found no lack of things to talk about. Even with a bottle of water at her side, her throat was always raw by the end of the day, but she didn't mind. It just felt good to talk to him.

As those first Saturdays passed, she saw the circles on his hands and the lines on his cheeks fade to scars and then disappear, but still he slept. She kept talking anyway, as much for herself as for him. Maybe he couldn't hear her, maybe she was just talking to a brick wall, but she knew that she had to try…for herself, as much as for him. Maybe it was helping him. At worst, it just might annoy him enough to wake him up.

One afternoon, the sun was shining especially brightly through the barred window. It filled the little room with light, even penetrating to the dark corners under the bed and behind her chair. Something in that clear, clean light gave Eileen courage, and as the minutes passed and she approached the end of her latest story of intrigue and woe from work, she realized that she had to take the chance. When she was done, she sat there for a minute in silence. Then, she took a deep breath as she struggled to find the right words.

"Henry, I…I don't know if you can hear me," she said to the pale face on the pillow. "I hope you can. Or maybe I don't. I don't know."

She thought for a moment. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she wanted to say…

"I…I'm so sorry…sorry for everything that's happened. I hope I can tell you that to your face someday. When you can hear me. This is just self-indulgence now, talking to you like this. Just me telling you these things because I know that you can't respond. I'm such a damn chicken. Always was. But you know that. You deserve better from me. Hell, you deserve better _than_ me sitting here, but…well, here we are. I'm it, it seems."

His expression was smooth and placid for now. Whatever was tormenting him had loosened its grip, even if just for a moment.

"I can't do much to help. Just like before, huh? This is all on you now. Guess it always was. But I'm going to be here every week, Henry, every week, until they tell me that I can't visit any more," she whispered. "I promise."

* * *

The next week, he was awake when she arrived. Wide awake, and sitting on his bed, wrapped in a blanket. He was leaning against the wall behind the bed and staring out of the narrow barred window of the room at the trees outside. Summer was giving way to fall now, and the leaves on the trees were starting to take on their first and final blaze of color. In a week or two, the view outside would be a riot of yellows and oranges and reds.

Henry did not move as she eased the door closed behind her. The blanket enveloped him completely. All that she could see were his shoulders and head, and the hand that held the blanket closed. He had filled out a little bit over the last few weeks, and his skin looked less papery now, but his cheeks were still sunken, and his eyes stared out from deep in their sockets. He seemed lost in another world.

_That world. Wherever it is. Where he lived for that week, and where I can't follow. And it's my job to help get him back out of it. I don't know if I can…but I'm sure as hell going to try._

"Henry, it's me," she said tentatively. "It's Eileen."

He said nothing, and gave no acknowledgement of her presence. His gaze remained fixed on the window. Still, she felt that he knew that she was there, so she sat down in the chair. Her hand reached for his.

"Do you mind?" she asked. "It's OK if you do. Just let me know."

No response. She took the hand in hers, and when the blanket fell open to reveal his blue hospital shirt and pants, she rearranged it around him with her free hand. No response. She smiled at him, stifled a sudden urge to hug him, and hoped that, even if he didn't really know that she was there, that…well, she didn't know what.

She kept his thin, cold hand in hers all morning. This morning, she talked about a movie that she'd seen on TV on Thursday night, one of her favorite movies. Since the conversation was completely one-sided, she had plenty of time to kill, so she went into detail about the plot, the actors, the effects, everything…anything that she thought he might want to hear about.

_I have no idea what kinds of movies he likes, really. Not as if we had much time to chat about that stuff. But my gut says that he would have enjoyed it. _

As the nurse brought in Henry's lunch, she excused herself as usual and went to find a sandwich or something at the little deli down the street. On her way out, one of the doctors called to her.

"Are you coming back after lunch?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied.

The doctor nodded. "Good. Your visits really are helping him. You may not see it, but he's much better on Sundays and Mondays. We're making real progress here, thanks to you. Could I ask you to do something?"

"Anything."

"Keep talking to him. It doesn't matter what you say, just hold his hand and talk to him. Tell him about what's going on in your life, your friends, your work, whatever. Movies, books, anything. The usual. He needs to feel your presence and hear your voice."

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything at all." He smiled at her. "You're doing great, you know. Just don't talk about anything that happened before."

* * *

Sometimes, she brought a book to read, one of the ones she'd found on his bookshelf or one from her own collection. He had a diverse, if small, collection of books, and she was enjoying reading them to him. He didn't say a word, but after a while he stopped just staring at the window, and would sit in bed listening and looking at the walls, wrapped in his blanket, with his feet pulled up on the bed and his hands in his lap.

"I brought you something," she said one day when she arrived. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

He said nothing, so she lowered herself onto the bed beside him gently. She reached for his hand and turned it palm up, and gently opened it. Once both hands were open, she placed a large, brightly colored maple leaf onto his palms. His eyes darted across the many shades of red and yellow and orange.

"I found this outside this morning when I was getting into the car," she said. "It's one of the best of the season. From that huge tree just behind the building. You remember. There are still a few leaves on the trees in Ashfield. I thought that you might like it."

The stem of the leaf was poking into the end of the cotton sleeve that hung forward over his wrist. It looked as if it might hurt. She reached to move the leaf, and as she did the sleeve slid back and she caught her breath. There was a bright red welt around his wrist. The skin was swollen and chafed in areas, as if something had been wrapped tightly around it and met with resistance. But as soon as she saw it, his other hand shot sideways and yanked the sleeve back down…and then slid back under the leaf where it had been, as if nothing had happened. His expression did not change, but she felt the wave of anger roll off of him, anger and frustration…and humiliation.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Henry," she sputtered. She didn't know what to do, so she opened her book at the bookmark, took a deep breath, and began to read.

He sat still for a while, looking at the leaf in his hands, as she read to him. After a couple of hours, his fingers closed around the stem, and he lifted it up to his eyes and examined it closely. She said nothing, just kept reading, and she said nothing further about it for the rest of the day. When she returned the next week, the leaf was hanging on the wall above the foot of his bed, a bright splash of color in the gray room.

* * *

As time passed, sometimes she thought she saw him reacting to her, smiling when she told him something funny, or frowning when something strange or odd happened in the story she was reading. But he still remained silent, and never met her eye. She knew better than to ask herself why.


	9. Cuts

One Saturday, Eileen realized that something was different as soon as she entered Henry's room. But she couldn't figure out what it was. He seemed normal, silent, withdrawn, the same as usual. She spent the first several minutes of her visit chatting to Henry on autopilot, searching his face and watching him and trying to figure out what it was. When she finally figured it out, she could have smacked herself.

_Idiot. He's gotten a haircut. Not that the shagginess was bad on him, but now it looks almost like it used to. A little shorter than it was that night, but roughly where it was those few times that I'd seen him before that. That's all it is. Nothing deep or earthshaking or even meaningful. Just a haircut._

When his lunch was brought up to him, she closed her book and got to her feet as usual, but the male nurse carrying the tray stopped her before she could leave. Andy was a big, gentle man who took care of Henry and several other patients on the floor. They'd chatted briefly a few times as he let Eileen into the room on her previous visits, and she had gotten to like him. He seemed like a good guy, and she felt comfortable around him.

"Eileen, wait a minute," he said.

"What's up, Andy?"

"The doctor said that he'd like you to help with lunch, if you don't mind."

Eileen smiled. "Of course I don't." She glanced briefly at Henry, but as usual he seemed oblivious, as if it didn't matter to him who fed him, or even whether he ate at all.

"Thanks." Andy grinned at her. "I didn't think you would."

She looked at the tray in his hands. There were two plates on the tray this time, but only one set of utensils. "I can see that," she said.

"I'll be outside. Let me know if you need anything." He leaned in to her. "Keep an eye on him."

Something in his tone made her pay attention. "Why?"

"Nothing. Just…keep an eye open."

She nodded. Andy set the tray on the little table by the bed, and as he closed the door behind him, she pulled her chair up to the table and peered at the plates. There was some kind of grilled chicken breast, with steamed vegetables and bread rolls, and a cup of water and a napkin for each of them. Henry's plate had a larger slab of chicken and more vegetables than hers.

"Hey, at least they feed you well here," she smiled. "Hope you don't mind if we eat off of the same fork."

Henry slowly pushed himself across the bed toward the table. She cut up his chicken first, then hers, and picked up a piece with the fork and popped it into her mouth. It was tender and juicy, and tasted of rosemary and lemon.

"Not bad," she said. "It's pretty good, actually."

Henry's eyes were fixed on her jaw as she chewed. She speared a piece of his chicken and held it up to his mouth, then pushed it in and watched closely as he chewed and swallowed, still not meeting her eye. But, she was getting better at reading him these days, or at least she thought she was, and she could tell that he liked it.

"Told you," she said.

Henry was still bundled up in his blanket, with only his head and shoulders visible. She saw him move under the blanket, then his arm emerged as he reached for his water cup. Eileen nearly dropped the knife and fork. His fingers were still long and thin, but now they jutted out of a nearly spherical mass of bandages that ran past his wrist and out to his first knuckle. Somehow he managed to grip the cup in his fingertips and bring it to his lips. She watched his Adam's-apple bob up and down for a few seconds as he drank deeply. Then, she tried to arrange her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression, turned back to her chicken, and hoped that he hadn't noticed her staring at him.

The meal proceeded slowly. Eileen fed Henry first, then herself, and eventually the food dwindled until the plates were empty and all that was left was to wipe their mouths with the napkins and put the tray outside the door. As she opened the door, she saw Andy sitting on the bench in the hallway outside, waiting.

"Henry, I've got to – you know. Be right back," she said, and she closed the door behind her.

"Everything go OK?" Andy asked.

"Yeah. Andy, what happened?"

"You mean – "

"His hand."

Andy sighed. "Well, as you can see, we gave him a haircut."

"So?"

"He…he decided partway through that he didn't want one."

"_What?"_

"He went for the scissors the hard way. Cut himself up pretty thoroughly. He's going to be OK, but we have to keep him wrapped up for a little while."

Then, a horrible thought crossed her mind. "Andy…he wasn't…"

Andy stared at her for a second. "No, no, Eileen. Don't worry about that. He wasn't trying to do _that_. Just lashing out, I think. My gut feeling is that he didn't want to be touched. It took us a while to get him calmed down enough to patch him up and finish the job."

Eileen peered back through the one-way window into the room. Henry was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out of the window, but he was flexing the fingers on his bandaged hand and tapping his foot impatiently. The room was soundproof; she couldn't hear him, and she knew that he couldn't hear them.

"It, uh, looks good," she said lamely.

"He _was_ getting a little shaggy. We have to keep it short enough to keep him clean."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"I've seen his wrists, Andy," she said quietly. "I saw them a while ago, too."

He nodded. "He was hiding them from you, wasn't he?"

"Yeah. What the…what's been going on?"

Andy sighed. "He has his moments. This isn't the first time, but it's the first time that he's injured himself." He looked around. "I'm not supposed to talk to non-relatives, but since you're all he's got…well, sometimes he gets violent."

"Violent?" she sputtered. _Henry? Violent?_

"I know," Andy replied. "If I hadn't seen it happen myself, I wouldn't believe it. But…he doesn't like being touched. Barely can stand being talked to sometimes. He spends most of his time just staring at the walls. Sometimes when I bring in his food, I can hear him talking to himself, but I've never been able to make out what he's been saying. But I get the feeling that…that he's not really talking to _himself_."

"Why?"

Andy shrugged. "I couldn't say. Don't really know. Just a gut feeling. Weird thing is, our usual sedatives don't seem to work on him any more. When he gets worked up, we can't calm him down quickly. That's why…the wrists."

"The wrists," Eileen repeated absently. None of this was making any sense to her. This Henry who lost control at the slightest provocation, who slashed at himself with scissors, who spent his days sitting on his bed, talking to an empty room…this was a Henry that she had never seen, that she couldn't imagine. The Henry she knew was quiet, thoughtful, self-controlled, and stubborn, but never violent. Not with himself, or with anyone else – not counting monsters and serial killers, anyway. _Who –_

She felt a black hole open in the pit of her stomach.

_How much has all of this changed him? Is that Henry really gone for good?_

_Who is the man in that room, now?_

Andy misread the look on her face. "I swear, Eileen, that we wouldn't restrain him if we didn't have to. Haven't had to much over the past few weeks. He's been pretty quiet recently. This was the first outburst he'd had in a while."

"Is he…"

"He's going to be OK, eventually."

"Really? You're not just telling me that, are you?"

Andy shook his head. "There's still a lot going on in his head, a lot that he's working through and trying to get out of his system. And everybody deals with these things in different ways."

"Yeah, but you can't tell me that _everybody_ deals with these things."

"No, I can't."

"He's not insane, you know." she stated. "I'm no doctor, so I don't know, but that's what _my_ gut tells me. He's been through hell and back."

Andy smiled. "No, he's not insane. But things are pretty weird for him right now."

Eileen peered through the window again. Henry had finished off his water, and was twisting the blanket in his hands and muttering to himself.

"Is it OK if I go back in?" she asked.

Andy took a look. "Yeah, he's OK now," he said. "Probably a little self-conscious, but you won't have any problems."

Sure enough, when Eileen opened the door again, he didn't react at all. He was still muttering, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

"I'm back," she said.

The muttering stopped. Henry's head swiveled around and stared at her shoes. Then, he leaned back against the wall behind the bed. His other hand came out to pull the blanket back around himself, and she was relieved to see that it was free of wrappings…and of anything else.

It was then that Eileen realized that she wasn't afraid of him. Whoever he was now. She should have been, she knew – she'd seen what he could do when provoked, and she knew that she wouldn't be alive now if he hadn't done those things – but she wasn't. And she probably wouldn't be, ever.

_Not until he strikes out at me. And somehow I don't feel as if that's going to happen any time soon. Maybe I'm being naïve, but I don't think so. I could be wrong, but I just can't work up that fear._

She sat back in her chair and smiled at him, then pulled a favorite glossy coffee-table book from her bag.

"You know what?" she said. "I'd like to visit Egypt some day. I loved learning about it in college. There's so much more there to see than just the pyramids. I found this on the bargain table at the bookstore a few blocks away last week. Mind if I show you?"

Henry didn't react, so she sat down gently next to him and opened the book across their laps, reaching across him to turn the pages. The two-page photo she turned to blazed colorfully in the early-afternoon light filtering through the window.

"This is the Temple of Karnak. It's one of the best-preserved from ancient Egypt. Look at those columns – aren't they huge? They rise incredibly high above your head, it says, and the carvings are deep. That's why we can still read them thousands of years later. Isn't that amazing?"

Her finger moved across the page, tracing the outlines, and Henry's eyes followed it. She pulled her legs up underneath her and leaned back against the wall next to him.

"I've always wanted to visit there," she continued. "Ride a boat up the Nile to the delta, see the pyramids, you know. All the usual touristy stuff. Hokey, I know, but it's been a dream of mine since I was a kid. Did you know that…"

And so, the afternoon passed. When the time came to leave, Eileen put her book back into her bag and reached for her jacket.

"Same time next week, then? You be good. Don't bother Andy too much, OK?"

It was the same thing she said every week, and she knew better than to wait for a response. But this week, she couldn't just leave it at that. She sat back down in the chair, leaned forward and took his good hand in hers.

"Henry, I…I know what's been going on. With you. Here. I made Andy tell me, so don't be mad at him, please. It's my fault. You remember how pigheaded I can be, right? We both were. Don't know about you, but I still am."

No response. Eileen took a deep breath.

"I know about the…why your hand is wrapped up. Andy told me that – that it's been hard for you, so hard. I know that I'm the only one who comes to see you, but I'm not the only one who cares, you know. The girls at work…well, they don't know everything, and they're never going to, but they know that I wouldn't be alive without you, and they're pulling for you too. And Andy and the doctors…"

But that rang hollow to her ear. It wasn't enough. Nothing ever would be. Then she looked at him again. He wasn't staring at her feet any more. He had raised his head, and now he was looking at…

…_my neck?_

Then, she knew that she had to be honest with him. Completely honest.

"Everything's different now," she said quietly. "Way more for you than for me, of course. But…it's weird. I don't know how to describe it. It's as if even the same things look different, you know? As if I've never seen them before. But it's me that's changed, not them, and – well, I don't know what that means. I don't know if I ever will."

_This isn't about you, Eileen._

"I…I'm sorry, Henry," she continued. "I don't know what to say. I'd give anything, do anything, to help, but I know that I can't. I want you to know that it doesn't matter what…what happens. I'm going to be here for you as much as I can. Whatever you need, whatever you want, whatever I can do for you, I'll do. Just say the word. I _mean_ it, and you know that I mean it." She squeezed the hand. "Please don't be ashamed of any of this. This isn't you. You would never do anything to hurt anybody. I learned that back there, and that's all that I need to know." She felt a sudden urge to stroke his hair, to reassure him, but she bit her lip and released his hand and stood up, blinking back the tear in her eye.

_I…_

She bent to pick up her things again in silence.

As she turned to the door, something cold and bony grabbed her wrist. She panicked for a split second, then collected herself and turned around. Henry was leaning toward her, with his good hand clamped around hers, staring straight up at her. It had been months since she'd looked into his eyes. The intensity of his gaze shook her for a moment, but she finally found her tongue.

"Henry? What is it?"

No response, but he didn't let go. She didn't know what to do.

"Is something wrong? Do you need the doctor?"

He shook his head. Just as she was about to ask him again, his lips parted.

"Thank you…Eileen," he said.

His voice was rusty and rough, but her heart leapt. It had been so long since she'd heard that voice. She'd almost given up on ever hearing it again. He was still...he was still in there after all. For the first time since St. Jerome's, she felt hope, real hope. She felt a stupid grin nearly split her face in two.

"You're welcome."


	10. Christmas

Eileen found herself zoning out as her little car rolled down the road to Silent Hill. The weather was cold and blustery, and had been for weeks. The trees on either side of the narrow county route stood out like dark spikes against the white ground, leafless but for the pines that held fast against the wind. The road itself was a wide black ribbon curving through the gray and white hills.

_Picturesque…if you go for that kind of thing, I guess._

Few cars were out this early in the morning, and those that were appeared suddenly around bends and twists in the road, their sounds muffled by the snow. She forced herself to concentrate on the road.

_There's a hairpin curve coming up in about a quarter mile. Better start slowing down now._

Funny how well she knew every little twist and turn, every bump and pothole and seam in the asphalt. Funny, too, how quickly she'd learned them when she had to.

_Guess when something's important, you make the extra effort._

She'd been to Silent Hill for day trips with her parents when she was a little kid, just like every other kid in Ashfield. Back then, she'd always been too excited to sit still during the drive there, and by the end of the day she'd always worn herself out and would fall asleep in the back seat on the way home. This road had merely been what lay between home and the amusement park. But now, years later, she was the one at the wheel, and the car knew the road all too well. Even in the powdery snow that had been falling all morning, the landmarks stood out like familiar friends.

Eileen made the round trip each Saturday like clockwork, driving up early in the morning and leaving late in the afternoon. These days, it was dark when she arrived, and nearly dark again when she left. Still, she hadn't missed a Saturday yet, not even three weeks before, when the snowfall had been so heavy that she could barely see more than a hundred feet in front of her.

Today was not like every other time she'd driven this road, though. Today was a banner day, the day she'd been waiting for for months. She was older now, but she was more excited than she could ever remember being when she was that little kid. Excited…and maybe a little scared.

Today was the day that Henry was going to be discharged from Brookhaven Hospital.

* * *

A couple of weeks after Henry had started speaking again, they'd moved him down to one of the larger rooms on the second floor. This was a two-person room, and her first thought when she saw it was to wonder whether he could deal with a roommate in his current condition. Fortunately, the other bed in the room hadn't been needed, and the whole space was his. He kept the room tidy and clean, with only a few magazines on the spare bed, and the books that she brought for him in a stack next to the magazines. The bright leaf from last fall hung above the extra bed opposite his own, the only decoration in the otherwise bare room.

"Nice and big, huh?" she asked him. "And you've got it all to yourself."

"Quiet time of year," he replied.

"Really?"

"Andy tells me that this place is more popular around the holidays."

She didn't know how to respond to that.

He said very little else that day, but he smiled a few times when she asked him a question or made a joke. When he did speak, his voice was so soft that she could barely hear him. She got the feeling that he was almost…well, afraid of talking much, but she had no idea why he would be.

Every week since then had been the same. She drove down early, leaving Ashfield before sunrise, and was escorted straight to his room. He always seemed happy to see her. He'd ask her about her week, and she'd tell him. Then, she'd read to him or they would watch TV until lunchtime. Their mutual-favorite game show came on at 10:30, and a friendly competition had spring up between them to see who could get more of the answers right. Because of this, over the last couple of months, Eileen had decided that Henry would make a hell of a partner for team Trivial Pursuit someday. After lunch, there was plenty of time for a book or more TV or talk, until it was time for her to leave. It seemed like nothing special, but she looked forward to it anyway.

At his request, the doctors allowed her to bring him newspapers from Ashfield. It had been long enough since their ordeal that the papers had moved on to other news, but even then she still scanned each page to make sure that there was no mention of what had happened. It was too early for that, the doctors told her, too soon for him to have to deal with the fallout, and she wondered if maybe the whole thing was a bad idea in the first place. But the first week that she brought him a thick stack of newspapers, he was so obviously happy that she couldn't help but smile too. The next week, Andy took her aside and told her that he'd read the entire stack over and over until the pages were no longer legible and his hands were black from newsprint.

The move seemed to have done him good. He was definitely changing, starting to come out of whatever had had him in its grip. It was going to take a long time, she could tell, but it was happening. He still didn't talk much on his own, but then he never really had, except in his most unguarded moments. But he was doing more, interacting more, reacting to her more. That had to be good, right?

There was a look about him, though, that hadn't been there before. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something had changed. She never asked him about himself, though. Best not to pry. The week that the bandages came off of his wrist, the first thing that he did after she arrived was to hold out his hand for her inspection. So, she knew that if anything came up, he'd tell her.

Two weeks before today, though, something had felt different. Maybe it was the holiday season. She wasn't sure what, but there was something different about him…he seemed more energetic, more lively. She couldn't help noticing the extra spring in his step as he crossed the room to greet her. For Henry, that was almost…well, almost like bouncing.

_Not that Henry will ever approach "bubbly" or "perky", God forbid. That __**would**_ _be scary._

"Hey," she said, as she hugged him.

"Hey," he replied as he hugged her back. It was their standard greeting now. He was still thin, but he was getting stronger, and he squeezed her as tightly as he could every time she arrived. That was fine with her. "How's it going?"

"OK. Been a quiet week. I think I need to get new tires for the car, though, with all the snow out there." She nodded at the window. "You think that looks bad, you should see Ashfield right now. Everything is white. Three-foot-high drifts in some places. Frank was out shoveling almost all day on Wednesday. Wouldn't let anybody help him, but he still grumbled about it the rest of the week. You know how he is."

He nodded. "Yeah. My first winter at the building, I offered to help him, but he said no. Said he didn't want me suing him if I threw my back out."

"Like you'd do something like that. He was probably kidding."

"Probably. Anyway, I got new tires for the truck last year…had an assignment up in the hills last February. Went to the place down the street."

"How were they?"

"They're good. Won't overcharge you, either. You should be OK there."

Eileen wasn't really thinking about tires much. She'd spent the last few weeks trying to figure out what to do for Henry for Christmas. What _do_ you give the man who saved your life more times than you could count? There was so little that he needed these days…nothing that she could buy in a store, at any rate. And from what she'd seen in his apartment, things weren't important to him anyway. But even after all this time, she still had no idea what _was_. She'd worried and fretted for days.

Finally, she'd come up with an idea so obvious that she couldn't believe it had taken that long to figure it out. After calling the hospital to run it by the doctors, she'd swung into action. She'd had to borrow a few things and call in a couple of favors from her co-workers, but it had been surprisingly easy. And now, she just hoped that he would like it…

Henry was peering at her with curiosity.

"Be right back," she said.

"Are you OK?" he asked, but the door was already closing behind her as she headed to her car. When she and the nurses returned a few minutes later with pounds and pounds of crockpots and casserole dishes and salad bowls and the roast beef wrapped in yards of tinfoil because she didn't have anything big enough to put it in, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. The nurses grinned openly as they set up the small folding table they'd brought in for the occasion. She left them to it and went back for the rest.

"When the girls at work found out what I was doing, they all insisted on helping," she explained to Andy as she lifted the last casserole dish from the trunk of her car. "Everybody brought something to work yesterday. I tried to tell them that there's no way that we could eat all of this, but that didn't stop them. Will you join us? We could use the help."

"No, not this time. This is just for the two of you," Andy said, taking the dish from her. "Have fun. He's going to love it."

"I hope so."

Andy smiled. "He will. This has got to be the nicest thing that anybody's done for him in a long, long time. It should just be you two."

"OK. But you're getting leftovers."

"Now _that_ I think we can handle," he replied.

The procession attracted so much attention that nearly everyone who worked in the hospital ended up in Henry's room at some point, helping out and chatting. Henry himself retreated from the commotion and ended up sitting on his bed in his robe with his knees pulled up to his chest, watching the whole production from afar. Finally, when everything was ready, Andy shooed everybody out and closed the door firmly on his way out. The two of them sat down to plates piled high with beef and potatoes and green beans and all of the holiday dishes she'd been able to think of.

As Henry settled into his chair, Eileen raised her glass of wine. He did the same.

"A toast?" she asked. "Your call."

"To you, for bringing…all of this." He shook his head. "I've never seen so much food in one place, Eileen. Thanks."

"My pleasure. And everybody at work says hi."

"Thank them for me."

"I will."

Henry fell silent. For a few seconds, she waited as he surveyed his plate.

"What is it?" she asked gently.

"I can't remember the last time I ate this well."

She smiled at him. "Neither can I. But I think it's about time we did." _God knows you need it, still._

"I have something for you," he said abruptly. "A surprise."

She looked at him. He didn't seem upset…if anything, he was anxious. His glass of wine was still up, but he was staring at the plate of food as if he'd never seen it before.

_Now that's something __**I've**__ never seen before…a nervous Henry._

"I don't know if you're going to like it. I hope that you will." His voice was small.

She put down her glass, reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Of course I will, Henry. You've never let me down before."

He raised his head and smiled back. There was something familiar in his eyes, but she couldn't put a word to it.

"They say that I can go home around New Year's, or sometime after that. Guess I'm ready for the real world again. Kind of."

Eileen sat still for a moment, stunned, then she jumped to her feet. As Henry stared at her in surprise, she ran around the table and hugged him tightly from behind.

"Oh, that's great news! Henry, I'm so happy for you!"

She felt him tense in surprise, then his shoulders relaxed.

"I…I hope that's OK," he said.

Eileen squeezed harder. "Of course it is! Why wouldn't it be? It's wonderful news!"

He said nothing, but put his hand over hers. Eileen closed her eyes in happiness.

_He's…he's going to be OK. Really OK, or they wouldn't be letting him out. This is the best Christmas present I've had in a long, long time…maybe ever._

After a while, her stomach rumbled. Henry laughed. "I'm supposed to be the hungry one here," he said. "We'd better eat this before it all gets cold."

She sat back down in her chair, and lifted her glass again. "If that isn't worth a toast, I don't know what is."

Glasses clinked.

"Happy holidays, Henry."

"Very happy. Thank you."

* * *

Maybe it was the cold of the day, or maybe it was the joy that lifted their spirits and the prospect of something to look forward to, but everything tasted wonderful. The roast had come out perfectly, the rest of the food had stayed warm somehow, and Sandy's famous double-chocolate cake was better than ever before. They both managed to put away more food than Eileen had thought possible.

By the time that Andy came back to help clean up, she was nearly comatose, and Henry was stifling yawns every few minutes. Later that afternoon, as they were lazing about watching old movies on TV, she fell into a doze on the spare bed.

"Miss Galvin?"

She opened her eyes to see Andy standing over her, smiling. The shadows in the room were longer than she remembered, and she realized why he'd woken her.

"Eileen," she said.

"It's time," he whispered. "You OK to drive?"

"Yeah."

She would have been perfectly happy sleeping there all night, but she knew she had to go. Eileen turned her head and saw Henry stretched out on his bed, fingers laced together over his slightly distended stomach, fast asleep.

"Just a minute, Andy?"

She lifted herself up slowly, crossed the room and sat down in the chair by his bed, and watched him for a little while. His brow was unfurrowed, and the muscles of his face were completely slack. He looked ten years younger, almost like a teenager.

She took the blanket from the spare bed she'd been sleeping on, unfolded it and spread it over him, and brushed back the hair from his forehead.

_Sleep well._

It wasn't until she was warming up her car in the parking lot that she caught sight of her own face in the side mirror and realized that she was grinning like an idiot.


	11. Henry's Surprise

When Eileen drove up to the hospital the next week, the snow was still thick on the ground from a day-long storm a few days before. The gray light of winter filled Henry's room and cast bluish shadows on everything, but the room itself was warm and comfortable, and almost welcoming. Perhaps it was the holiday spirit getting to her; after all, hospital rooms usually weren't all that cozy. But nothing could be nearly as welcoming as the way Henry's face lit up when she entered the room.

"Thanks again," he said into her ear during their regular hug. "For the feast."

"You're welcome," she replied.

"The whole hospital is still talking about it," he said, and she thought she felt him smile.

Just as he let her go, the doctor came through the door. "Henry, don't you have something to tell Miss Galvin?" he said.

Henry turned to face the doctor, and Eileen saw that look in his eyes again, the same one she'd seen over the huge holiday dinner, when he'd told her his good news.

"Told her last week," he said in a strong voice.

Something passed between the two men, something that she barely caught before he turned back and smiled at her. Then, she recognized it.

_It's a look of triumph. Just like the one he got after we fought through all of those golden wall men back in the buildings…the look he got whenever he'd managed to get past some major obstacle, or solve some problem. I guess that makes sense – after all, he's getting out of here after all of this time – but still…something doesn't feel right._

"So, you know that we're discharging Henry next week," the doctor said.

"_Next_ week?" _So soon?_

"Yes. He's ready, we think."

"I _know_ I am," Henry added. His jaw was set.

"Miss Galvin – "

"Eileen, Doctor, but I've told you that before," she smiled.

He smiled back at her. "Sorry, Eileen. Would you mind calling whoever needs to come to pick him up? You're the only contact that we have in our files. Henry, is there someone who can take you in for a few months while you finish your recovery? Relatives, maybe, or a friend?"

_Of course. Eileen, you moron. You hadn't thought about what would happen next. Of course he can't live by himself when he gets out. He'll need help. He's probably going to have to live with some relatives until he gets better…he sure can't live in 302 any more. Who am I going to call? He'll tell me, I guess – he'll have to. I'll have to make sure that he gets his things back before he goes._

Something twisted inside her.

_I'm going to miss him…_

Henry colored slightly. "Hadn't thought about it. Uh...no, not really."

The doctor frowned. "Nobody?"

"No."

_Nobody – or at least, nobody who...where the __**hell**__ are his family? Henry…_

"If there isn't, does that mean he'd have to stay here?" Eileen asked.

"Henry is going to require some assistance for a few months until he's completely back on his feet again. He's going to have to live with someone who can keep an eye on him. If there's nobody..."

_My God. It's unbelievable. This man saves the __**world**__ and…there's nobody who…_

"There is," she said. "I will."

Henry's mouth dropped open, and his eyes seemed about to burst out of his head. It would have been comical under other circumstances.

"I have a spare room at my place," Eileen continued. "You can stay there, if you want. I work during the days...is that a problem?"

"No, not at all," the doctor replied. "But, Eileen, it's a heavy responsibility. Are you sure?"

She nodded firmly. "Absolutely. Whatever it takes. If it's OK with you, Henry."

His eyes were still enormous. "Uh, yeah. Yes – of course," he stammered. "It's fine."

The doctor smiled. "Excellent. Will you be ready to take him home next week?"

_God only knows, but I'll move heaven and earth to make it happen. I'll sleep on the couch for a month if I have to._

"Not a problem, Doctor."

"Good. I'll get his paperwork in motion. We'll talk before you leave today." He clapped Henry on the shoulder. "Congratulations. You're going home."

* * *

The moment the door closed behind the doctor, Henry turned to Eileen.

"You don't have to do this."

"I know. I want to."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Of course."

He shook his head. "I'm still…"

"You need somewhere to stay. Why not with me?"

"Are you sure?"

"Henry," she laughed, "it's not like I'm going to change my mind. You're coming to stay with me, as long as you don't mind."

"Mind?"

His hands were shaking now. He dropped down onto the edge of his bed and dug his fingers into his legs to still them. She sat next to him and put her hands over his.

"Don't worry, Henry. It's going to be OK."

They sat quietly for a moment or two.

"Thank you, Eileen."

"You're welcome."

For several seconds, he stared down silently at his hands that were still moving, twisting the fabric of his hospital pants into wrinkles. Then he lifted his head and turned to her.

"Anything going on?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, I don't have anything going on, if that's what you mean."

"No, not like that. That's none of my business. But, if you did, you wouldn't be offering to put me up."

"I'd figure out something. But no, I don't have a roommate. Or a boyfriend, either."

"I meant, is there anything new at the building that I should be aware of?"

She smiled. "Nah. You know. Like Mrs. Adams says…nothing ever changes at South Ashfield Heights."

_With a few major exceptions, of course._

He laughed. "Yeah, I remember. Nothing ever does change. Least of all her."

"But I did catch a glimpse of the new people in 207." She watched his face carefully, but he didn't react. "A young couple with a baby. They moved in just last Monday. The family in 206 sure seemed happy to see them."

"Took Frank a while to get new tenants."

"Well, given the circumstances…" Eileen said, then stopped herself. "Anyway, it's not the first time. After all, you didn't move in until months after Joseph disappeared." _Well, crap…that's just as bad…I'll shut up now._

He raised an eyebrow at her. "They told you not to talk about…things, right?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm glad you are. It's…" He took a deep breath. "I've been wondering how everybody has been since I left. It's good to know that things are OK."

_You need to be more careful, Eileen. But you do need to ask him something._

"Henry, are you going to be OK – being there? In the building? Again?"

"I…I think so."

"At least it'll be familiar. You've seen my place. That first room on the left, you remember? That can be yours. Like I promised, remember?"

"The guest room?"

"Yep. It's a nice large room, about the same size as your old bedroom. Same layout, too. When I get home today, I'm going to start fixing it up for you."

"Don't go to too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all. Really."

"Yes, it is."

"Well, it's worth it."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

He squeezed her hands. "Thank you, again."

"You can stop saying that, you know."

"No, I can't."

They sat quietly for a minute. Eileen was already going over things in her head. She'd have to let Frank know, and get Henry's things unpacked and in order, and find out what else he was going to need from the doctors…and finally get around to going through all of the stuff she kept in that room and getting rid of the junk…there was probably going to be a lot to do…oh, and she'd have to scrounge up some furniture for his room somehow…she always thought of it as a guest room, but there wasn't any actual usable _furniture_ in it…

His voice broke through her thoughts.

"So tell me about the new people."

"Huh?"

"What are they like?"

"Don't really know. They seem nice enough, but I haven't met them yet."

"Do they hang their laundry out to dry on the balcony like the woman with the cats used to do?"

She had to laugh at that. Part of living at South Ashfield Heights was being treated to the occasional sight of pink cotton underwear flapping in the breeze on that particular balcony. "No, they don't. Not yet, anyway."

Henry wanted to know all about what had happened at the building over the past few months, and as she answered his questions Eileen realized just how much time really had passed since all of that had happened. People coming and going, the seasons changing…she'd seen it all, but he hadn't. Hopefully, that wouldn't be too much of a shock to him next week.

* * *

And so the morning passed, until Andy brought in lunch. As usual, the aromas made Eileen hungry instantly. These days, there were always two sets of utensils.

"I heard the weirdest thing about the guy in 107," she said as they ate.

Henry sliced into his chicken and lifted a piece to his mouth. "The guy with the records, right?"

"Yeah. Ri – " – _oops, let's not go there_ – "I heard once that he's a DJ or something. Well, apparently he works the goth club downtown. My friend told me that she saw him there last week, in full gear and everything. Never had him pegged as a goth type. Seemed like more of a metalhead to me."

"Me too. Your friend Sharon, right?"

Eileen put down her fork and stared at him. "Yeah. How'd you guess?"

"You told me about her. It was one of the first times you came to see me."

"But..."

_But, Henry, you were almost catatonic then. You didn't move, didn't say anything, didn't do anything, just stared at the wall as I rattled on about anything I could think of...just to pass the time, to provide outside stimuli, like the doctor told me to..._

"I remember," he said. His hand shook as he lowered his fork, and the fork clattered on the plate. "I was listening. I remember everything you told me then."

"Everything, huh?" she smiled at him. "Prove it." _There's __**no**__ way. Nobody's memory is that good._

Henry fixed her with his eye.

"Sharon's a size four," he began, "which makes you jealous because you think your butt is too big. She has three rings in her left ear and a nose ring, and you think that she has piercings in other places, but you've never seen them and you're not sure you want to. You think that her late nights out and heavy drinking are going to make her skin look like leather in ten years, but you secretly envy her her social life and her black leather trenchcoat…"

Hearing the most one-hundred-percent-cotton guy she'd ever met talking about _Sharon_, of all people, was too much for Eileen. "Stop, already," she said, laughing. "I believe you. Have you always been able to remember things like this?"

"No, not always. I've been working on it during my time here. I've been working on a lot of things."

And just like that, he was off in his own world again, staring into the distance at a point somewhere over her shoulder.

_Don't pry, Eileen._

"You're doing better with your chicken," she said gently after several seconds.

He smiled down at it ruefully. "Yeah. Someday, I might be good enough to eat pomegranates. I hear they're a challenge."

"What? You can't eat pomegranates with a fork."

"Like I said. A challenge."

Eileen stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing again.

"Where the hell did that come from?" _When was the last time I heard him make a joke? Never? _

Henry looked at her, startled. Then, he shrugged.

"You've got a mean sense of humor, Mr. Townshend."

"Gets me through the day."


	12. Homecoming

**A/N: The title of this chapter was picked out a while before the name of the next Silent Hill game was announced. So, you don't have to read anything into it. :)  
**

* * *

And now, the day Eileen had been waiting for was here, and as long as her car didn't slide off of the snowy road, she'd be in Silent Hill soon to bring Henry home.

She had their whole day planned. She'd pick him up at ten o'clock, and they'd be back in Ashfield after lunch if the roads weren't too bad. Then, they'd grab Italian take-out at her favorite place, and spend the afternoon and evening eating and watching movies. She'd prepared the pile of DVDs already. They were mostly comedies...those were pretty safe, and it seemed to her that they could both use a good laugh after all this time.

The doctors had briefed her at the end of the previous week's visit. As it turned out, there wasn't much that she needed to know. Henry would need help with the simple things at first, and she would need to make sure that he took a shower, remembered to eat, and did other such everyday things that he might not be able to do by himself. It wasn't that he was incapable of it, not as if he'd forgotten how to clean himself or physically couldn't take care of brushing his own teeth. It was that sometimes he'd be unable to bring himself to do it. Responsibilities, no matter how small, were just too much for him to take now. He was no danger to himself, though, and could be left alone for several hours during the day while she went to work.

So, Eileen had moved her stuff out of her large spare room and set it up for him. Frank had given her a few pieces of old furniture from his storage area, and she'd brought in the things they'd managed to rescue from 302. It had taken her all week to get everything done, but last night she'd finally finished.

As she drove the last few miles to town, she went over the room in her mind. At first, she'd wanted to set it up just like his old room, but then it occurred to her that maybe that wasn't a good idea, so she had rearranged things as best she could. Now, the bed faced the door, like hers. His books sat on a bookshelf, his clothes were freshly washed and folded in a dresser, his family pictures adorned the bedside table, and his portfolio and photographs were placed around the room. The old red pillow that she'd found in one of the cardboard boxes sat on his bed. His bathrobe hung in the bathroom, next to hers. His other possessions were in a couple of boxes in the closet. It was as welcoming and familiar as she could make it, and she hoped that it would be enough.

* * *

When she arrived, the nurse at the front desk smiled at her.

"Good morning, Eileen. It's the big day, isn't it?"

"Yes, Maria," she smiled. "Sure is. Can you give this to him?" She lifted the large bundle she was carrying over the desk.

"No problem. He's going to need it, on a day like today. Is it still snowing out there?"

"Yep. Coming down pretty heavily, actually."

"Will you be OK to get back to Ashfield?"

"Should be. Is he ready to go?"

"Not just yet, but I'm sure he'll be out in a little bit. Let me give this to him. I'll be right back." Maria grinned at her. "I've never seen him so excited, Eileen. He's been talking about nothing else all week."

Twenty minutes later, she heard familiar footsteps coming down the hallway, and she got to her feet. Henry came around the corner with Andy in tow. The heavy woolen coat that she'd given the nurse hung from his shoulders, and his bag was in his hand.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself," she replied.

"Sorry we're late," Andy said with a smile.

"My fault," Henry said.

"That's OK," Eileen replied. "Glad to see the coat fits."

"Perfectly."

"Ready?"

"Ready." Henry turned to the man beside him. "Thanks, Andy. For everything." They shook hands, and Andy smiled broadly.

"You take care, Henry."

Maria stood up and smiled at Henry. He moved toward the desk and leaned over it for a big hug.

"We're going to miss you, Mr. Townshend," she sniffled into his coat.

"I'm going to miss you too," he said.

* * *

The first quarter hour of the drive passed in silence. A dry, powdery snow dusted the hills and blew across the road in swirls of white. Out of the corner of her eye, Eileen watched as Henry sat still, with his hands in his lap. He wasn't looking out of the windows of the car, or fidgeting, or doing anything at all. He was just...sitting there, eyes darting over the road ahead.

After a while, the solitary sound of the car engine was almost too much to take.

"Music?" Eileen asked.

"Yeah."

"You do the honors."

"What do you like?"

"Huh?"

"To listen to."

_That's right…in all of this time, we've never talked music at all._

"Anything works, really. I've got some stations programmed in. Try button number three."

His fingers traveled over the knobs and buttons of the stereo, and soon the little car was filled with the sounds of the local gigawatt classic rock station.

"I'm going to pick up some Italian food from Fuseli's, when we get back to town," she said. "What are you in the mood for?"

Henry said nothing.

"Do you like Italian? Because we can do Chinese or pizza or something."

"No Chinese. MSG gives you headaches."

"It does. How did you know?"

"You told me. In the buildings."

"Oh yeah…" _Damn. His memory __**is**__ that good._

"I like Italian," he replied. "It's just that…"

"What?"

"I, uh, I can't know what I want without seeing their menu," he said. He turned away and looked out of the window.

_But he's eaten there dozens of times. The waitress there told me so, last month, when she asked about him..._

_Oh. Of course. Decisions. I'd forgotten._

"Well, I was thinking of getting some spaghetti and garlic bread, with either ravioli or lasagna. Would that be OK?"

"Sure."

"Tell you what. Why don't we get both, and we can each have some of each. That's got to be a nice change from hospital food. And I don't know about you, but this cold makes me hungry. I could eat a horse."

Henry smiled. "Me too. Sounds good."

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said. "I brought you something. It's in the glove compartment."

He reached forward and opened the little door. Inside was the small plastic folder that held the car manuals and a copy of her car insurance card, but on top was…

He pulled out the round red object, and turned it in his hands. "A pomegranate. You remembered."

"Yeah. Silly, huh?"

"Yeah. Thanks. It's been years since I've had one."

"I forgot the knife and fork."

"I'm still working up to that, remember? At least I can eat _this_ one."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if I'd had one in the hospital, I'd have to go back each winter, right?"

She laughed. "So now you're Persephone?"

"Not really. I'm not _that _crazy."

"I didn't mean – "

"I know." He put the fruit carefully back into the glove box. "Not that I want to go back. I've got a lot to catch up on."

"Don't worry about things. Frank held all of your mail for you. I've got it in a box at home. And he's loaned me some furniture for your room. He even gave me that coat. Said it used to belong to his son."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him look down at the coat.

"The one who disappeared?"

"He didn't say. But it must have been. I don't think he had any others."

He ran his hands over the thick, soft wool. "His son…this was his son's."

"He said it took him half a day to figure out which box he'd packed it away in."

"Packed away? But it was just sitting out, on the chair in… "

Henry fell silent.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. Never mind."

Henry buried his nose in the collar of the coat. They drove the rest of the way to Ashfield with no sound but the radio, as the snow changed from powder to fluffy flakes and shrouded the car in silence.

* * *

As she drove, Eileen went over the doctor's last words to her, over and over again.

"Give him a schedule," he'd told her. "Every day, he should get up and eat and shower at the same time. He's not capable of deciding when he should do those things for himself, not yet, so he needs you to do it for him."

"Why is it hard for him?" she asked.

"Because he's afraid of what will happen if he makes the wrong decision. Even about what shirt to wear. From what you've told me, he spent that day making life-or-death choices every minute of every hour, not knowing if any of them was the right one. And now, sometimes the sheer effort of having to decide, even about the smallest things, is too much for him. It paralyzes him. He can't take that first step. He gets stuck."

She had no idea what that meant. It was hard to imagine Henry like that. After what she'd seen him do that night, the idea of him having trouble deciding whether or not to comb his hair seemed bizarre. But things were very different now, of course.

The rest of the drive was uneventful. They arrived back in Ashfield a few hours later, and she parked her car in her usual space. The snow had stopped falling, and the sky had cleared. Sunlight glared off of the whiteness piled high everywhere.

"It's still here," Henry said as he opened the car door. She followed his gaze to the old gray truck that sat a few spaces down, covered in snow. It had been there for months, right where he had left it last, and Frank had never said a word about needing that space. It wasn't as if there was going to be a new tenant for 302 any time soon, anyway.

"Of course," Eileen replied. _Why wouldn't it be?_

"Probably doesn't start any more, after all this time."

"Planning on driving anywhere?"

"No."

She locked the car doors and started to walk towards the building.

"Where are you going?"

She turned around. He was still standing by the car, with his hands in his pockets.

"What do you mean?"

"Lunch." He jerked his head toward the red neon sign across the street.

"I can go get that. You…"

"Let's go now. That way, when we're done we're in for the day."

_Huh. He wants to go along. Then again, if I'd been cooped up in a hospital for months, I'd probably want a few minutes outside too. Even if it's cold and snowy._

They picked their way through the piles of snow. As she made her way along, Eileen tried to guess how long it had taken Frank to shovel all of this. Some of the snow had fallen last night, so when she'd walked out to her car, there had been a few inches on the ground, and it looked as though more had fallen since that time.

_Frank had to have been working all morning. He's shoveled out every space except Henry's._

She chose her next step, and hopped forward to clear a large chunk of hard snow...and sank in up to her knee. She was stuck.

"Dammit," she muttered.

But then a familiar hand was extended in front of her, and she smothered a grin as she grasped it. Henry pulled her forward, and she stepped onto the pavement.

"Thanks. Again."

He said nothing, but just let go of her hand and pushed the button for the crosswalk signal.

Fortunately, Fuseli's menu was posted inside the window as always. It was exactly the same, too. She couldn't remember the last time they'd changed it at all.

"See anything?" Eileen asked.

Henry peered at it for a few seconds before shaking his head. "What you said before…that's fine with me."

_That bad, huh?_

Fuseli's was actually two restaurants in one. You could enter the side door for a quick bite at the little tables by the take-out window, or go through the doors at the front to be seated in the dining room. They went in through the side doors, of course, and Henry headed for a corner table as Eileen stepped up to the take-out counter.

The waitress smiled in the usual way. "Hey! Welcome to Fu – " Eileen followed her eyes to the corner, where Henry was rubbing his hands and staring out the window. "Oh my God. Is it – "

Eileen smiled. "Yep, it's him."

This time, the waitress' smile was genuine. "I'm sorry, Eileen. It's just that – well, I didn't know if he'd ever come back. He's one of my favorite customers…so nice and always orders the same things. Always sits at that table, too, when he eats here."

"He's back, but it's been rough for him."

"I'm glad. I mean, that he's back," the waitress added quickly. "Is he…"

"He's going to be OK."

"That's good to hear. He was about as regular as they come. Hasn't been the same around here without him."

Eileen leaned forward. "It's his first day back. Let's – "

"I'm on it," the waitress said. "One Tuscan steak, medium, salad with vinaigrette, no cheese and extra tomatoes on the salad. It'll be out before you know it. You want your usual, too?"

"Yep. And some lasagna and ravioli." She smiled conspiratorially. "He needs feeding."

"OK then." The waitress smiled. "Coming right up."

He was still rubbing his hands together, pressing himself into the corner of the wall with the collar of the coat up around his ears. He had that mask back up again, the one that she'd seen him use occasionally that night with her, and with the doctors at the hospital after that. Whenever something came up that he didn't want to talk about, his eyes grew distant, and he withdrew into himself, just as he was doing now. Clearly, he wasn't in the mood for uninvited company. Not that the place was that crowded just then, but…

She sat down in the chair opposite him. "Doing OK?"

He relaxed instantly, and smiled. "Yeah."

He was watching the cars go by as if he'd never seen them before. She couldn't tell if his eyes were wide from nervousness or…

"Are you sure?"

The glare off of the snow drifts lit up the hollows of his face and brightened the circles under his eyes, and he looked almost like his old self. Almost. Then again, she wasn't used to seeing him in daylight.

"Yeah. I just…"

"What?"

He rubbed his hands together, but she knew that it wasn't because of the cold.

"…back there. In the hospital. I didn't know if I'd ever see this again."

She didn't know what to say. He turned back to the cars, and they watched them together while they waited.

* * *

The bag that Eileen received some minutes later was suspiciously heavy, but she didn't say anything….that is, until the waitress gave her the bill.

"This isn't right," she said. "This is – "

"Shhh," the waitress said. She leaned over the counter. "I have to give you _something_, or the other customers will complain. But Chef says this one's on the house."

"Seriously?"

The waitress shrugged. "What Chef wants, Chef gets," she replied. "He knew as soon as I said 'no cheese and extra tomatoes on the salad'. You should have seen the grin on his face. There's a box of rotini in there, too. He gets that every now and then for a change." She beamed. "That was me."

Eileen shook her head. "You shouldn't have. Either of you."

"Our pleasure. He looks like he could use some good food, if you don't mind my saying. Oh, and tell him 'Welcome back'. From all of us."

* * *

If Henry's eyes had been huge in the restaurant, they were saucers as the two of them made their way back through the parking lot toward the large double doors of South Ashfield Heights. She stayed beside him, ready to be there in case it was all too much for him. But he walked resolutely on, with his bag gripped tightly in his hand. It wasn't until they were almost at the double doors that he stopped and turned to her.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. She hadn't expected that.

"Of course. I mean, somebody's got to eat all of this food, right?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. I wouldn't have made the offer if I wasn't. Are you OK with it?"

"Eileen, I…"

"What's wrong, Henry?"

He shook his head again. "Thanks."

"You can stop saying that, you know," she said quietly.

"No. Thank you."

_Well, __**somebody**__ had to do it,_ she thought. _No, that's not it. Am I really the only person on this earth who gives a damn about him?_

She smiled at him. "Food's getting cold."

"Yeah."

He pulled the doors open, and they went inside.

The foyer stretched in front of them, same as always. She fumbled for her keys as she walked to the mailboxes. As she turned her key in the mailbox lock, her eyes went to the box next to hers, to the narrow white paper label with "Townshend" written neatly on it...same as they did every day. The small, tidy print contrasted with the scrawled "Galvin" on her mailbox.

When she finished sorting through the small stack (junk mail, nothing important), she relocked the mailbox and turned to Henry. He was standing in front of the wall opposite the row of mailboxes, with his bag on the floor at his feet, running his fingers over the old paint. But he was turned away from the wall, and his eyes darted around the empty foyer. Thank God there was nobody else around at the moment. She had to get him out of there before somebody else came through.

_Does he…_

She walked up next to him.

"Just checking?"

"Yeah."

"Everything OK?"

"Yeah."

"Upstairs?"

"Yeah." He bent to pick up his bag, and sniffed at the food in her arms. "Smells good."

He started up the stairs, and Eileen shoved the mail into her bag and turned to follow him. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and as she turned back to look she saw Frank, standing by the hallway doors by his apartment.

_My God…he looks as though he's seen a ghost or something._

He was watching as Henry slowly climbed the stairs in the old, heavy wool coat, watching and staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Then Eileen understood.

_Worse than that…he's just seen two._

She said nothing, but followed Henry up the stairs.


	13. The Red Book

Eileen had lived in room 303 of South Ashfield Heights for some time. Long enough, certainly, to have locked and unlocked her front door countless times. No big deal. Usually, she was either in a hurry to get to work, or she was fumbling with her bag and the mail and didn't give the lock a second thought.

So why did it have to fight back _now_? Of all times? She had a bag of hot food from Fuseli's making her stomach rumble, cold feet from walking through the snow, and most of all Henry, fresh out of Brookhaven for the first time in months, waiting patiently behind her, and of _course _the damn lock was just refusing to open.

She dumped the bag of food on the floor in frustration, took the knob in one hand and wiggled the key in the lock with the other for all she was worth.

"Sorry," she grumbled. "This has never happened before. Never."

"Yes, it has," came Henry's voice from behind and below, as he bent to pick up the bag. "I had trouble with it, too."

When had he _ever_ unlocked her door? Why…

…_oh._

The door finally opened, and she could tell right away that her place was freezing, as usual. Eileen strode in, dropped her coat and bag on the kitchen counter and went straight for the thermostat in her bedroom.

"Put your stuff anywhere," she called down the hallway. "I've got to turn on the heat. Be right out."

When she came back, he was standing by the closed front door, still in his coat, with his bag from the hospital by his feet and the bag from Fuseli's in his hands.

"There's a hanger for your coat in the washroom," she said, taking the food from him. "You can put your bag in your room."

"…my room?"

"Of course," she said, hiding a smile. "Remember? You get the guest room. All yours."

"I can sleep on the couch."

She turned from the take-out boxes and plates. He was sliding her coat onto the hanger in the washroom.

"No, you can't," she replied. "Anyway, I spent the last week cleaning it out for you, so you might as well take it. I'll show you."

"Can we eat first?" He hung his heavy coat on the spare hanger.

"Hungry?"

"Yeah."

"Me too. Can you see if there's anything good on TV?"

* * *

On any other day, there would have been leftovers from the huge pile of food that Fuseli's had given them, but not today. Eileen ate a lot herself, but the rate at which Henry was wolfing down the food was unlike anything she'd ever seen. It was – well, impressive.

"Do you know how much I've missed this stuff?" he mumbled once between forkfuls.

"I can guess," she replied.

When the last of the breadsticks were gone, they settled onto the couch to watch movies and digest. For several hours, the only sounds in Room 303 were the noise of the TV and an occasional snore as one or the other of them dozed off.

At one point, Eileen awoke to find her head on his shoulder and his arm around her as the end of her favorite Mel Brooks movie played on the TV. His shoulder was bony and poked into her ear, but she didn't mind. He wasn't watching the movie, just staring off into space. Instead of the hard, closed look his face would take on in his absent moments at the hospital, his expression was softer and more relaxed.

A faint burbling sound reached her drowsy ear. One of them was still digesting, she couldn't tell which. It didn't matter. She was warm, fed, and beyond content. She felt safe, so safe, and happy…

She closed her eyes and drifted off again.

* * *

After dinner, she took him to his new room and showed him where things were. That is, once she managed to pull him through the door from where he stood, feet planted in the hallway, gaping.

"You're acting like you've never seen a guest room before," Eileen teased.

"No, I...it's just...I didn't expect all of this," Henry stammered.

"What, you thought I was going to put you on an old mattress or something?"

"No, of course not...I didn't mean..."

She took pity on him. "It's OK. I know you didn't. Look – this is my grandmother's old quilt. She left it to me. I thought it would help you feel more at home."

"It does. Thanks." He bent over it and ran his fingers over the old, soft cotton fabric. "This is really...uh…it's really colorful."

She laughed. "Actually, it's kind of ugly. But it was hers, so I love it anyway."

As she guided him around the room, he touched his possessions one by one, as if he couldn't believe that they were really there.

"These…these are my clothes, too," he said, pulling open another drawer in his dresser. "All of them."

Eileen nodded. "You have an interesting T-shirt collection, if you don't mind my saying."

He smiled. "Thanks."

"We got everything that we could out of there," she replied. "Father Kelley and Mike and me."

"Mike? From 301?"

"Yeah. He helped. Some things we couldn't rescue, though. I'm sorry."

His fingers traced the globe sitting on top of the dresser. "I can't believe it."

"What?"

"You did all of this for me. Got all of my things and cleaned them and put them in here."

The cleaning had been the hardest part. Not the orange gunk – that disappeared as soon as an object crossed the threshold of Room 302, as if it couldn't exist outside of its confines. It was the aftereffects that were the major worry. Some of the things they'd found had been too badly damaged by whatever had happened in that room to be salvaged; they were ripped, bloodied, rotted, mangled, or otherwise not worth saving. But she had been more worried about the effects that might not have been as visible…the lingering remnants of that…_thing's_…wrath.

It had really hit her when she reached into the back of his closet and pulled out the last object hanging on the rod. It was a black suit, sealed in a plastic dry-cleaner's bag along with a white shirt, a black tie, and a pair of black shoes. The suit was made of wool, plain of fabric and cut but good-quality, and the shirt was a fine white cotton. It was just like everything else of his that they'd dug up – unobtrusive, but well-made.

_This must have been the suit that he mentioned, the one that he said he'd wear to Jen's wedding after I cajoled him into going with me. I wonder what that would have been like._

At least, it had been black and white once. The contents of the bag were now orange and damp like everything else, and in tatters. The finely-woven wool hung limply, and as she lifted it up to look more closely one sleeve tore across the upper arm and fell to the bottom of the bag. The suit was rotting, but the bag was still intact. Whatever that stuff was, it was getting into _everything_, even through plastic.

_No point in keeping it. It's a write-off. Well, he didn't need it…and I didn't end up going to that wedding, either. So much has changed…_

So, after she and Mike had extracted everything they could, they set it all in a pile in the hallway. Father Kelley lit candles all around the stack and read something in Latin while sprinkling the entire pile with holy water. Just in case. As he spoke, Eileen realized that whatever he was reciting, it wasn't part of any church service she'd ever been to.

It had taken hours of hard work in that stinking, sweltering, dark room to salvage what remained of his possessions. But the look on Henry's face confirmed that it had all been worth it.

"Not everything," she replied. "But as much as possible." She didn't mention the heavy plastic bag buried in the back of the closet, the bag that St. Jerome's had given her. It held a pair of boots, jeans, socks, boxers, a white T-shirt, and a blue-gray button-down shirt, all with deep brownish-red stains that would never come out. Her skin crawled when she first saw the bag, but she knew that she couldn't get rid of it.

"What's this?" he asked, as he picked up the open shoebox that sat in the middle of his desk.

"That's your mail for the last few months," she replied. "I tossed the old catalogs and sale flyers. Hope you don't mind."

"No. I always did that, too." He riffled through the stack, and then his fingers pulled a plain white envelope from near the top of the pile and slid under the open flap.

"That's from Frank," she said. "He brought it by last week. He didn't say what it was."

Inside was a small, rectangular piece of paper. The corner of Henry's mouth twitched slightly as his eyes ran over it.

"Huh. I'll be damned," he said.

"What?"

"It's my deposit for 302."

Henry slid the check back into the envelope and put it back in the box, then he laid the box back on his desk. She stood there quietly.

"Thank you, Eileen," he finally said. "This is…"

"Don't mention it."

"No, I want to. It's…" He took a short, sharp breath.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah. I think so. It's great, it really is. But that's not…"

She waited as he looked around the room for several seconds.

"I thought I'd lost everything," he finally said.

_He's not just talking about his things. I know, Henry. I thought I'd lost everything, too._

She moved to him and gave him a big hug. He hugged her back gently. She could feel his ribs through his old, soft shirt.

"There was a book," he said suddenly, pulling away. "A red book. Did you find it? It's important."

"Uh...yeah. Under your desk in your bedroom. Why – "

He gripped her shoulders. "You didn't open it, right?"

"N-no, of course not."

He dropped his hands self-consciously. "Where is it?"

She nodded toward the bookshelf. His fingers roamed over the books, as if he was searching more by touch than by sight. After a moment, he pulled the small blood-red volume from the shelf. It fell open in his hands, and as he flipped through it, Eileen saw that the pages were as red as the cover – and blank. All completely blank. His eyes darted over them as if reading, but there was nothing there to read.

"I'm sorry, Henry," she said. "Maybe the stuff got to it." _Only this one, though. The rest of his books seemed OK._

His eyes moved to her, then back to the book, then back to her. After a moment, he laid the book flat on the desk. "Did you find my black scrapbook?"

"The one with the maps in it? No, I couldn't find it. I looked everywhere. I'm sorry."

"No, it's OK. It's just fine." He smiled a little. "This is all...so great. Thanks."

"It was the least we could do. The least _I _could do. After everything that you've had to do for me."

The smile faded, and then he was turning away from her, closing off again.

_What did I do? Why does he react that way?_

She had to say _something_.

"It's getting late. Why don't we get changed? Your pajamas are in the top drawer. I've put out a toothbrush for you in the bathroom. It's the blue one."

He nodded, and turned to the dresser. She went next door to her room and changed into her favorite flannel pajamas. She had to rummage around for her slippers, which always managed to disappear at the worst times, and eventually she dug them out from under the bed, swearing under her breath. When she was done in the bathroom, she opened the door and noticed that Henry's door was still closed.

_Funny…the blue toothbrush is still dry. He hasn't been in here._

She knocked on the door.

"Henry? Is everything OK?"

No answer.

"Henry?"

Silence.

"Henry, I'm coming in."

He was standing upright in his pajama bottoms, facing the chest of drawers. Something was wrapped around his shoulders at an odd angle.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Then she saw the problem. His pajama shirt was on, and he had one arm through a sleeve, but the other sleeve was tangled around the back of the shirt and he couldn't get his other arm through it, or reach across to pull it free. She tugged at the sleeve and it popped loose, but when she smiled up at him she followed his stare and...

_...the mirror. Dammit! I forgot about the mirror. _

He was staring at himself in the old mirror that she'd set up over the chest of drawers. Staring at himself as if he'd never seen himself before.

_Why…_

_Wait. That's it. There was no mirror in his room at Brookhaven, and when we were in here before he was too busy looking through his things. He never looked at the mirror. So this is the first time he's seen his reflection since...since._

She bent her head and eased his arm through the sleeve, and then straightened the pajama shirt on him. As he stood there, rooted to the floor, she sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. The hand was cold.

"Henry, are you OK?"

He didn't move.

"Henry?"

Nothing. She looked up, and saw that he wasn't focused on the mirror any more. He was staring _through_ the mirror, as if there was something on the other side. _Something…_

Suddenly, she was very afraid. She tugged on his hand lightly, but he stayed where he was as if rooted to the spot. She tugged harder, then harder, and then she grabbed his arm with both hands and _pulled_. Henry stumbled backwards and sat down hard on the bed next to her. As she watched, he blinked, and then blinked again.

"Are you OK?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said distractedly. "I think."

"I'm sorry," she said, "but..."

"No. Thanks," he said. He put his head in his hands and leaned forward. "Do I…is that really me?"

"You looked a lot worse a few months ago."

"I didn't recognize myself."

"It's OK. You've been through a lot. You're getting better."

He was silent.

"Henry, what happened just now?"

"I guess I got stuck again."

_So that's what it means. Not just the shirt._

"It's OK," she replied, rubbing his back. The old cotton fabric was soft under her hand.

"No, it's not," he muttered. "No, it's not." His shoulders heaved. "I…"

"It will get better with time," she murmured. "The doctors said so."

"It's not that," he mumbled into his hands. "Well, it is, but…"

"Then what is it?" She continued to trace circles on his back.

"It's her."

"Who?" But somehow, Eileen knew the answer as soon as the question left her lips. That sneaking suspicion she'd had at St. Jerome's…was it really true?

Henry raised his head. His eyes told her everything that she needed to know. Eileen's blood ran cold, but she said nothing.

_She…it's really her. She's still…_

"She's still there," he said slowly. "I could see her. I…I wasn't looking at myself just now, not really…it was…"

"What?"

"I could see my room in the mirror. She was showing it to me. It looks – it looks the same."

_Oh my God._

"It's been months, but she's still there. I can tell. I can feel her. She's in pain, and she's dying. She's dying without me."

"But – but that's a good thing, right?" she said, turning him toward her. "That means that she'll be gone soon."

Henry nodded. "Yes, but … she's calling out to me. She's angry and desperate. She wants me back. She can't get anyone else, not any more. And she knows it. I'm her last chance."

"There's no way in hell that you're ever going back in there," Eileen said firmly. "Never again. Damn it, I'll – well, I don't know what I'd do, but _nobody_ is ever going back in there again. Least of all you." She laughed. "Hell, I'd lock you into this place if I could."

"It's not like that. She can't – she can't do that. Pull me in. Not any more."

"OK. I'll have to trust you on that."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You trusted me with your life, once."

She had to smile a little. "More than once."

"I'd rather not be locked in _anywhere _again, thanks. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"...no. But that's the best I can do for now."

"I can take down the mirror if you want."

"No. I – I'll deal with it. It's OK."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Eileen bit her lip. "Do you want to go back to – "

"_No_. It's not necessary. I'd rather be here dealing with her than be there again. No. Not if I can help it."

"If you say so."

"If I need to go back to Brookhaven I'll let you know."

She nodded. _I'll have to trust him on that, too. _She'd known this was going to be hard, but...she hadn't expected...well, she hadn't really known _what _to expect. Was she going to be able to do this? More importantly, was _he_? Did either of them have any _clue…_

Then, he drew in his breath sharply and shuddered.

"Is it…?"

The face that turned to hers was pained. "You can't hear her?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"What – "

"She's calling my name, and…"

_What…what did she…what does she __**want**__ from him?_

"You know you can tell me. Anything."

"I will. One of these days. But not now." He shook his head. "Not now."

His eyes were shut tightly, and his jaw was clenched. She wrapped her arms around him and held him as he leaned into her. Was this cold, bony body in her arms really the same Henry who had saved her from Walter's eternal damnation?

Yes…and no.

"It's going to be OK," she said softly.

_Or at least I hope that it's going to be._


	14. Obligations

Saturday night and Sunday morning passed uneventfully. Eileen kept an eye on Henry as he got up, showered, and ate, which went without a hitch. They spent the morning going through his things to see if he needed anything. It turned out that he was low on undershirts, boxers and socks (almost all of them had been in the dryer that day, he said, and the dryer had malfunctioned badly), so in the afternoon they drove across town to stock up. The post-holiday sales were still going, but they were near their end, and the stores were quiet. As Henry went to get what he needed, Eileen dug out a couple of pairs of thick winter slippers from a bargain bin. His eyebrow disappeared under his hair when he saw the reindeer embroidered on the smaller pair.

"My size," she replied. "These are for you." She dangled a larger pair in brown plaid in front of him. "I know that your room is drafty sometimes. Sorry about that. They all are."

"It's OK. My old room was like that, too."

On the way back, Henry asked if they could stop at the hobby store downtown. Inside, he made a beeline for the jigsaw puzzles, and as Eileen watched his thin fingers slid along the stacks and pulled out a few large boxes.

"I spent hours doing puzzles when I was a kid, but I never had ones as nice as these," he told her.

Eileen peered at the boxes he'd set aside. One thousand pieces...two thousand pieces...how on earth did anybody ever finish these?

"Wow," she said. "These must take forever."

"I've got a lot of time on my hands these days. You pick one."

"Me?"

"Yeah."

Eileen stared at the boxes for a while, and finally picked out a round puzzle of the moon that glowed in the dark.

Henry spent the afternoon on the carpet in front of the TV, lying on top of a couple of chair cushions and working on an enormous puzzle of a section of the Bayeux Tapestry. She watched him from behind her book as she lay on the couch. After a while, she asked if she could help, and they sat on the floor like kids, cross-legged, as they sorted through the pieces together.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing to the picture on the box. "We haven't gotten to that part yet, right?"

"That," he replied with a smile, "is a comet. Halley's comet. See? 'Isti mirant stella'...they marvel at the star. It was a very bad omen back then. And that's King Harold being told about the comet, over there."

"I didn't know that you were into European history," she said.

He shrugged. "I minored in it in college. Anyway, I've always liked the image."

After dinner, he insisted on helping out with the dishes. She scrubbed and he dried, and soon they had a good rhythm going. But after a few minutes, he began to wobble on his feet at the sink, and she turned him around and pushed him down the hall to his door.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled as they went.

"Tired?"

"Yeah. Busy day." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sorry."

"Don't be. This is the most you've done in weeks."

"I guess."

"You need help with anything?"

"No," he said, as they reached the door. He turned around and gave her a weary smile. "I should be OK now. Thanks."

The door closed behind him. Five minutes later, as she passed by on her way to the bathroom, she heard snoring from behind the door.

_I'm going to have to make sure that he doesn't tire himself out like that again. It's too much for him._

_European history, huh? I'd never have guessed. Maybe we can talk history some other time. There's so much that I don't know about him…_

* * *

Eileen worked from eight to five during the week, so Henry was going to be left to his own devices during that time. Usually, she took her lunch to work, but now she figured that she'd come home for lunch, to make sure he was OK and so that they could both eat. Monday morning, as she was reaching for her coat, she realized that he would need something to do while she was gone, in case he got bored with his puzzles.

"Hey, Henry," she called down the hallway from her front room. "Can you come here for a minute?"

He shuffled down the hall in his robe and new slippers. "What's up?"

"Here's a movie you've just got to see," she said, pulling a DVD from the shelf. "It's got all of that guy stuff…action, adventure, and explosions. My dad gave it to me. Oh, and this…and this, I think you'll like it…" she continued, handing DVDs back over her shoulder to him.

When she turned around, his eyes were barely visible over the pile of DVDs in his arms. He raised an eyebrow at her.

She laughed. "Sorry. Got a little carried away there. Still, they're all good viewing."

"Would you have bought them if they weren't?"

"Good point. Tell you what. Why not start with the first few, and we can put the rest away for later."

Henry took a few off of the pile and put them on top of the TV. "Sounds good."

Sure enough, when she came back a little after noon with a bag from Happy Burger, Henry was parked on the couch in his robe and new slippers, watching movies.

"What do you think?"

"Lots of explosions in the first one," he said. "And lots of guns. I'm going to come back to that one later."

_Oops. Should have thought of that._

"But the second one is better. I like spy movies."

"Yeah, me too," she said, plopping down on the couch with the bag and two plates. "Think you can handle a bacon cheeseburger and fries?"

"I'm willing to try," he said with a grin.

She parceled out the food, and was about to take a bite of her burger when he spoke.

"What do I owe you?"

"What do you mean?"

"For lunch. How much?"

"Nothing, Henry. I've got this one. Don't worry about it."

"I know I've been gone for a while, but food still costs money, right?"

"Yeah, but don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

She shrugged and stuffed a few fries into her mouth. He frowned, but eventually did the same.

* * *

When she returned in the evening, she wasn't at all surprised to see the stack of DVDs transferred to the other side of the TV, in reverse order from the morning. Near the top of the jigsaw puzzle, the star was assembled in its proper place. But there was no sign of Henry himself.

Something caught her eye on the kitchen counter…two envelopes, actually, laid out deliberately for her to see.

One was a heavy blue envelope. She remembered seeing it in his box of mail. It was postmarked the Monday after their ordeal. The return address was one she didn't recognize, some publishing company with an address in the North Ashfield business district. The envelope was addressed in a tidy hand, though, and the single sheet of matching heavy blue paper that lay unfolded by the envelope for her reading was written in the same hand.

_Henry,_

_I couldn't believe what I just heard on the news. Least of all, that you might be involved somehow. Nobody knows anything yet, which is the weirdest thing of all, but whatever has happened sounds too strange to be true – which around here doesn't mean that it can't be true, of course._

_I've tried to call you, but your phone seems to be out of order, and the police won't tell me a damn thing. If you get this letter, call me ASAP. I don't know what's going on with you, but if you need anything you know where to find me._

_Don't worry about work. I know that you're not going to skip out on me. And, even if you didn't have what's got to be a damn good reason for not showing up for a week, you're the best photographer I've got. Your job will still be here when you're ready for it. _

– _Roger Widmark_

So, she wasn't the only one who had been worried about him. She wasn't the only one who had noticed that he was missing. The police should have been looking for him, of course. But after the initial panic, after she'd been questioned by the police and they'd taken her story down, she hadn't seen them again. She'd figured that they'd done whatever they had to do in the two days she'd been in the hospital, and she hadn't really thought about them again. Strange that they hadn't noticed Henry's absence – or maybe they had still been looking for him when he'd been…found. Anyway, this Widmark guy hadn't contacted her or anyone else as far as she knew. It was possible, though, that he'd found out about Henry's transfer to Brookhaven and was steering clear – or giving him space. She couldn't blame him for doing that.

The second item was a plain white envelope. Inside was a small rectangular piece of paper, and a short note in Henry's own writing. It was just as small and neat as on the label on his mailbox. The note contained one line of text. She ran her fingers over the familiar writing automatically before the words sank in.

_Food costs money._

And damn him, he'd signed his deposit check over to her. He hadn't worked in months. He needed the money more than she did, he had to. What the hell was he thinking?

She found him fast asleep in his bed again, just as he had been the evening before. She started to pull his door closed, but he stirred and pushed himself upright.

"Didn't mean to wake you," she said quietly.

He blinked against the dim light from the hallway. "It's OK."

"Still tired from yesterday?"

He shrugged. "I guess."

"You shouldn't have."

"What?"

"The check."

"Yes, I should. Food costs money."

"You keep telling me that."

"Hasn't changed, has it?"

"How long are you going to keep saying that?"

He yawned. "As long as it takes."

"No point in arguing, is there?"

"No point."

She frowned. "I knew you were stubborn, but I never realized you were _this_ bad."

"Did you think you were the only one who was?"

She smiled to herself. _Touché._

"Widmark?"

Henry shook his head. "Probably knows what happened by now. He's a good guy – he's not going to pry if he thinks I'm OK."

"Do I need to let him know what's going on?"

"I'll send him a letter tomorrow, if you can give me a stamp."

"I can call him for you."

"No, I'll do this myself."

"Need anything?"

He shook his head. "No, but thanks."

"Good night, Henry. And thanks again."

"Good night."

She closed the door.

_Definitely too much exertion. He's just not up to it. _

* * *

Saturday came, along with the first of Henry's regularly scheduled checkups. She drove him the several blocks to St. Jerome's in the morning. After the doctor came out of Henry's exam room, he called Eileen into his office.

"How's he doing?"

"So far, so good," she said. "He's eating and sleeping normally. He sometimes has a little trouble getting up in the mornings, but that's about it."

The doctor smiled. "Good. You should know that he's almost back to normal physically, as well. Still underweight, but that will fix itself in time. He's going to be tired for a while, too."

Eileen nodded. "We went out to get a few things on Sunday, and he slept for a long time that evening and the next. We were only out for a couple of hours, but I think it really took a lot out of him."

"That's understandable. At least he's sleeping. But keep the excursions to a minimum for the time being. There may still be a few lingering residual effects from before, but nothing serious."

"Is he going to be OK?"

"If he keeps progressing like he is, yes, he will be. You're going to have to keep making his decisions for him for a while, though. There's still a good deal of work to be done there. You'll know he's getting past that when he starts doing things on his own initiative."

Eileen nodded. "He already is. Some things."

"Good. How are you holding up?"

"What?"

"You. Caring for someone in Henry's condition can be very draining. Are you doing OK?"

"I...I guess so."

"Well, be careful. Don't neglect yourself. We have support services for caretakers here, if you need them. Just let me know if you need anything. OK?"

"OK."

As she stood to leave, the doctor said, "Eileen, before you go...one more thing."

"What is it?"

"I don't know if anybody at Brookhaven mentioned this, but I thought I should, just in case. Were you two romantically involved before all of this happened?"

_What?_

"N-no. I barely knew him, actually. Why?"

"That's good. Just so you know, that's not something he's really capable of handling right now. It would be too much for him to deal with."

"Thanks."

Eileen closed the door behind her and made her way down the hall to the waiting room. She sat down in her usual seat automatically, but her thoughts were miles away.

_No, not at all. It hadn't even occurred to me as a possibility. To be honest, I'd noticed after he moved in that he was good-looking, and he seemed like a nice guy, but he didn't seem at all interested, just kept to himself. It wasn't until that night that I realized just how caring he really is…and surreally brave…and, yeah, stubborn. But I owe him my life for that. If things had been different…_

_Well, they're not. So it's a moot point. This is how it is now. And I can't let myself think about that. Not now...maybe never. Can't._

Of course, that meant that she spent the rest of her time on the hard hospital bench that morning mentally replaying their time in hell. All of the times that he'd kept her from harm, taken a hit from a monster so that she didn't have to, held her hand as he led her along – and it had nearly cost him his life, more than once. She remembered his warmth next to her in the cold, dark, damp hallways they'd traveled that night, his voice telling her that things were going to be OK. As if she could ever forget. He'd been her strength, as she now had to be his.

She remembered that feeling of safety that he gave her, that security…the same feeling that had warmed her last Saturday afternoon, as she dozed on his shoulder with his arm around her. She'd been too groggy to realize it then, but now she knew that happiness for what it was. It was a feeling from a memory. It would have to be. He needed her now, just as she had needed him then, and she would have to make sure that she took care of him and did everything that she could to help him get better.

_Mom told me a long time ago that I need to be careful, that I tend to lean on other people too much. Well, here's one person that I can't lean on at all, not now, anyway. Gotta be there for him as much as I can. I hope it can be enough._

Henry came out of the exam room a few minutes later.

"Well?" Eileen asked.

"Same time next week."

"What did he say?"

"He says that I'm doing well," Henry said as he put on his coat.

But for some reason, suddenly he seemed like a stranger to her.


	15. Doing Well

_He says that I'm doing well._

Late that evening, Eileen was sitting in bed, going over things in her head. It had been a week now since she'd brought Henry home (_my home, not his...but for now, that's all he has_). On the whole, it had been a good week. They were getting along well together, and he seemed to be making the transition to life outside of the hospital as well as could be hoped. Leaving him alone at the apartment while she went to work seemed to be working out well, too. It didn't seem to bother him at all. Then, given that he'd spent most of the last few months by himself in his hospital room, perhaps that wasn't surprising.

What was unexpected was her adjustment to his presence. It had been years since she'd lived with anyone else, but having Henry at home went beyond just having a roommate again. Every day, when she was at home, she was constantly reminded of things that she'd previously managed to confine to Saturdays, neatly compartmentalized. Each week since that night had held the same things – work Mondays through Fridays, laundry night on Tuesdays, grocery shopping on Thursday evenings, and Henry on Saturdays. Apart from that last item, life had continued on almost as before. She'd made a conscious effort to make sure of that. Maybe she didn't hang out with her friends as much as before, but apart from that, everything had been pretty much the same. So far, she'd managed to keep it all at a distance, and for six days of the week it was almost as if nothing had ever happened.

But now he was here, all of the time. When she woke up in the morning, she was no longer alone in her apartment, and when she went to bed at night, she was very aware of his presence in the next room. He was a living, breathing reminder of what she (and he) had been through that night…and she was reminded of those things much more often now that Henry was here. She was starting to realize that perhaps she hadn't been able to put it all as far behind her as she thought she had. But that wasn't his fault.

She was getting used to checking on him, watching to see that he was eating and sleeping and doing all of the usual things like he should. So far, he'd been no trouble at all. He hadn't gotten "stuck" again – at least, as far as she'd seen – and he seemed perfectly content to watch TV and work on puzzles.

He'd finished up the tapestry puzzle after a couple of days, as she sat on the couch watching TV and sewing a button back onto a pair of pants...and watching him work. He was lying on his stomach on the rug, as he liked to do, and as she watched his hands picked up the last remaining pieces and pressed them gently into place.

Then, he pushed himself up and sat back on his heels. She peered over the coffee table. The picture was complete. She reached down and ran her hands over the glossy surface.

"Done?"

He nodded. "Done."

"It's beautiful."

He smiled. Then, he slid his hands under the puzzle and lifted it from the rug. As she watched, his hands slowly closed, and the puzzle flexed and crumpled. The pieces separated and dropped back into their cardboard box in a heavy gray rain as his fingers worked them loose. She felt an unexpected sense of loss, watching those many hours of hard work destroyed in a matter of seconds.

Then, to her surprise, he started sorting through the pieces again. One by one, he fished out the edge pieces and began to arrange them on the rug.

_Why is he doing the same one over again?_

She didn't know if she should ask or not.

That uncertainty was something else that she hadn't anticipated. On the one hand, she was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, making sure that things were OK, and all that. On the other hand, her reluctance to press him, to push him too far, still persisted, and many times she'd gotten the feeling that something was wrong, but she hadn't known what to do.

_It could be important, and if he needs help I need to be there for him. He might not even be aware of it himself. But...but the last thing he needs right now is to feel like I'm always watching him, putting pressure on him to act normal to get me off of his back. He needs his space._

_But something's been wrong since he came back. It's just a feeling – I don't know what. Like he's hiding something from me. No, I __**know**__ that he is. He's never discussed that week before we found him…not with me, anyway. But he won't tell me. Not yet. Maybe not ever._

_Maybe it's nothing to be worried about. He's still getting used to being here...and he's got her to deal with a lot of the time. Never mind all the stuff from before. She's in his head now, too. It's a huge burden on him. He doesn't talk about that either, but it's got to be. How much of this can he take? Should I say something to him? I have no right to pry, but…_

_What should I do?_

Too many times, she had let the moment pass, and too many times, she'd kicked herself later about it. Like she was doing right now. She shook her head.

_This is dumb. Dumb, Eileen. You know what you have to do. This kind of dithering is the reason that Henry was left to spend a week in hell while you decided you didn't want to pry. He deserves better from you. Grow a pair and do your damn job._

It _wasn't_ a job, though. That was the problem. It was her life now, to the exclusion of nearly everything else. It hadn't really hit her until just then, though. She hadn't thought twice before offering to bring Henry home, and whatever she was going to have to give up, it wasn't nearly as important as doing what she could for him. So, she hadn't really thought about it. It seemed unthinkably selfish to do so, after all that Henry had...

_No, it's reasonable. _

Where the hell had that come from? She shouldn't be thinking like that.

_No, it's very reasonable. And you know it. You're giving up dinners out with the girls, movies, all of that stuff. You're at home when you're not at work. You have to support two people now, and even though Henry's about as nondemanding as they come, that's still twice the food, at least. You didn't have a lot of extra money before, and now that's down to nearly none. Are you ready for that?_

_Moot point now, Eileen. He's here, and you're here, and you owe it to him, so just get over yourself and do it already._

_No, it's not that. I don't mind, I really don't. But I need to remember __**why**__ it's so important..._

_As if you could ever forget._

No, she never could. She'd spent those two days in the hospital going over things in detail, resolving questions and fixing things in her mind. She'd spent so much time digesting it all that since she'd come home, she'd barely thought about it. No, that wasn't it…she'd been pushing it away, trying to get past it, to get on with her life…

…_as if it never happened. Come on. Who are you kidding? Every time you look at him, you remember, even after all this time. But now, it's no longer something you can leave for Saturdays. It's here every day. __**He's**__ here every day. Better deal with it. Before he…_

She realized just then that it was probably too late. He _had_ to know.

_Oh no._

How could he not see it? He'd watched her that night, seen every little sign of weakness, taken better care of her than she could have of herself…or of him, probably. He could even tell when she was going to throw a possessed fit before she knew it. He could read her like a book. There was no way that he didn't know what was going through her mind. What was that doing to him? He needed her now, more than ever, and she was all he had – and all she saw when she looked at him was…

_Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I need to start thinking about the future, and not obsessing about the past. Henry's here, and so am I, and we both have to figure out how to get past this and get on with our lives. This has gone far enough…maybe too far. If…oh God, if he knows…_

_If I'm right, and he's seen what I've been thinking – well, if I were him, there'd be no way I could ignore that. There's no way that I could really be myself with somebody who saw me as a memory of the worst day of her life. I'd always be putting up a brave face, trying to pretend that everything was OK, even when it wasn't. And that's the last thing that he needs to deal with right now._

She was getting sleepy. Now wasn't the time to figure out what to do. Best to leave that until tomorrow, too. This was no time to be…what time _was_ it, anyway? She peered at the clock next to her bed. It was past midnight. Had she really been up that late? She was going to be a zombie at work tomorrow. Time to get to sleep. If she could, after all that.

But first, she needed a glass of water.

She pulled on her bathrobe and crept down the hallway to the kitchen. The rest of the apartment was dark, as usual, and she was relieved to see that no light crept out from under Henry's door. At least _he_ was sleeping. _How_ he could sleep with everything that he'd been through, she had no idea, but somehow he was managing it. Good.

She grabbed a glass out of the dish rack, filled it at the tap, and started back toward the hallway. Still dark. She hadn't woken him. Good.

…and...she should have known.

_Eileen, you goddamn __**idiot**__._

She put the glass down on the counter and turned around slowly. The darkness was nearly complete, only interrupted by the flickering orange-red light of the neon signs across the street. There was no moon. He was watching her, she knew, but all that she could see were his head and thin shoulders sitting upright in the chair by the window. That was enough to tell her that something was wrong…

**Click**.

…_very, very wrong._

"Henry?"

No response. The head and shoulders in the chair were still. She took a deep breath.

"Henry, what's…what is it?"

Silence. The silhouette was unmoving. She opened her mouth to speak, but froze at the sound of his voice.

"…stop it…"

_What?_

She stood very still. The gun glinted in the faint light as he lifted it with both hands and pointed it at her head.

_I know that gun. That's Richard's revolver. I remember digging it out of the chest in Henry's front room. There was still ammo there, too. Henry may have reloaded it…no, I know that he would have. He always kept his pistol fully loaded._

She didn't dare ask herself why he was holding her at gunpoint, not yet. Her brain was screaming at her to get the hell out of the way, and her gut was telling her to let him talk.

Several seconds passed, but he said nothing. She felt his eyes boring through her. Then, his head dropped, and she heard him muttering something quickly under his breath. She strained to hear.

"…it's not real, you know it's not real – it's just her, it's just one of her tricks, she's not really here…"

…_he thinks he's seeing things?Who?_

"Henry."

His head shot up again, and his fingers tightened on the gun. She knew that she had to come up with something, fast, before things got worse.

"Henry, where are we?" she said as calmly as she could.

He hesitated for several seconds, but kept the revolver aimed at her head.

"We're in my apartment, Henry."

"No."

"What makes you think that?"

Silence.

"Shut up," he said quickly.

"Henry – "

"Shut _up_."

_Even his voice sounds different._

"You've been here before," she said carefully. "We came here when we were going around the apartments. There was blood over here, by the door. My blood."

_Think, Eileen, think!_

"You killed a zombie Amazon thing in the hallway. Remember? It smelled awful before that, but it got a lot worse after you smashed its head in."

_OK, maybe I shouldn't talk about smashing heads right now._

"We were so tired. You remember. We ended up joking around for a little, and I told you that you could stay here if you needed to. You remember _that_. I know you do."

Silence.

"This is still my apartment. But it's all over now, Henry. It doesn't look like that any more. The blood's gone now. So is the Amazon. And the smell's gone, too. It's all gone."

Silence.

"Can I turn the light on to show you?"

"No. I know what you're trying to do."

"What am I trying to do, Henry?"

"No. You're not her. You're not there. None of this is real, none of it, that's not her, she's gone, she's _gone_, this is all her doing, there's _nothing…_"

_What the hell is he talking about?_

Then she remembered what he'd just said. Something about _her_, that it couldn't be _her_.

_That's got to be it. He's not talking to __**me**__.____That's why he sounds different. He sounds like he did when we found him._

And just like that, it all made sense.

"Henry, it's Eileen," she said slowly. "Really. This isn't an illusion, or a trick. It's me. You're not in your apartment any more, or in the hospital. You're really at my place. That's my chair you're sitting in. It probably doesn't feel like your old chairs, or anything at the hospital, right? Because it isn't. This is real."

Silence.

"Let me turn the light on," she continued. "Please. That's all I'm going to do. I promise."

After a few seconds, he nodded, and she reached to the wall and flipped the switch. The wallpaper was smudged and warped from Frank's cleaning efforts, and always would be. He'd offered to replace all of it for her, but she had said no. She still wasn't quite sure why she had refused, but at this moment she thanked all that was holy that she had.

She could just make out his face now. The shadows of the room and the glare of the light over her head hid much of his expression, but she could see into his eyes in the dim light. He wasn't looking _at _her…it was as if he was looking right _through_ her. She ran her fingers over the stiff bumpy paper, and lifted them up to the light.

"See? There's no blood here. It's gone, Henry. And the carpet's clean too. Look."

She bent down and rubbed her hand over the nubbly carpet, and turned her palm upward to show him.

"No blood at all, Henry."

Then, his eyes snapped to her, and she caught her breath. Behind the green irises, now only circles around dilated pupils, was that old steel. It was the same steel with which he'd faced down everything in their path, the same steel that had gotten both of them out of there alive and in one piece against all of the odds. After everything he'd been through, it was still there. Some things didn't change.

But this time, that _look_ was back, too – the look he got as he gathered himself for a fight to the death. She'd seen it so many times down there, but now…now it was directed at her, and she knew what that meant. There was no mistaking it. It was the same as it had always been. He could have killed her on the spot and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing about it.

As she straightened up, she squinted to look at him more closely. He was sitting ramrod-straight in the chair, with his old red pillow by his side. The cotton pajamas were gone, and he was wearing his blood-soaked clothes from long ago. They were no longer crumpled and wrinkled, or stiff from the blood – _his_ blood – that had turned a dull brown over the months since. They were soft again…from being worn. More than once. This couldn't have been the first time he'd put them on. How many times...it had only been a week...had he been up _every night? Like this?_

She started toward him. "Henry, _please_ – "

"Stay where you are," he said quickly.

She watched silently as his eyes scanned the carpet and the wall, and then surveyed the whole room. They ended up on her, and she could feel them boring through her again, examining her from head to foot.

Then, his hands gripped the arms of the chair. The old clothes swung in loose folds like curtains as he lifted himself slowly to his feet. He raised the gun again, then crossed the room quickly and circled around to stand about a foot behind her.

"Please take off your robe," he said quietly.

She had a moment of panic, but then she realized that this was Henry and that there were some things that just _couldn't_ happen. _He'd kill me before he'd…but why does he want me to…_

Suddenly, she understood. She shrugged her shoulders out of the robe and let it slide down her back to her waist. Then, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her pajama top and lowered it past her shoulders and down in the back. She could feel his eyes move over the thin scars as clearly as she felt the cold circle of the revolver on the nape of her neck.

That cold circle slid slowly down between her shoulder blades as she stood there. It stopped at the level of her heart.

"They're healing," he said. His voice was emotionless.

"Yes. But they're never going to disappear, not entirely," she said.

"No."

"The doctors told me that if I wanted, they could fix them," she replied quietly. "Remove them completely."

"Why didn't you?"

"Maybe I will someday. But not yet."

Silence. Her heart was pounding in her ears. It seemed an eternity before he spoke.

"Thank you, Eileen." She could barely hear him.

"Mind if I – "

"Of course."

She refastened her buttons and reached to pull her robe up. As she tied the belt around her waist, there was a choking sound from behind her, and before she knew it he had pushed past her and disappeared down the hallway. She followed him, and was surprised to find his door standing open.

"Can I come in?"

It was the first time she'd been in there since he came home from the hospital. The room was tidy, of course. The lights were off, and the bed had not been slept in. The desk chair they'd found in his bedroom was pulled toward the window, and she knew that he'd been sitting there long after bedtime, staring out at the cold white night. The red book lay closed in the center of the desk.

He laid the heavy gun on top of the book, and grasped the back of the chair in his hands as he leaned forward and his head sagged. She found herself looking at his back again, at that familiar gray-blue shirt that fit him so well. Or, it had once, a long time ago. As she followed him around that night, she'd memorized every wrinkle, the way it draped and moved and smelled of detergent and dirt and sweat and of him. Now, as he stood there, the smell of old blood rose faintly from the warmed fabric. She hadn't smelled that since, but now…

Suddenly, the room fell away, and she felt the ache in her ankle and the cast on her arm again. The walls were dripping with blood, and she could hear the old growls and screams from so long ago. She was still down here, and he was too, walking along in front of her, and she was shuffling along like usual, with her eyes fixed on the back of his shirt, staring at the wrinkles and the bloodstains to keep herself awake and moving. Her feet were _killing_ her and she felt so tired and weak and her skin was crawling with little black worms and they were never going to get out, never…

Her head swam. She groped for grandma's quilt on the bed, and he spun around and caught her under the arms as her knees sagged. His hands held her firmly as he lowered her to the bed. As she sat there with her head in her hands, trying to pull herself back together, she heard his desk chair squeak as he sat down in it and turned it to face her. She could hear his slow breathing in front of her, but she didn't dare look at him.

_What happens now?_


	16. Pomegranate

_What happens now?_

Eileen knew only that everything depended on the man sitting in the chair in front of her. The man with whom she had been through hell, who had watched out for her and protected her and saved her life more times than she could count. The man who she thought she knew better than she knew anyone, who she had brought into her home when he had nowhere else to go. The man who had held her at gunpoint in her front room three minutes ago with who knows what going through his head.

_There's no way I can ask. Not now. Maybe not ever._

For now, all that she could do was to be there for him. That was why they were there in the first place. That was her duty to him, no matter what. So, she had to pull it together soon, before…before what?

After a few minutes that seemed like hours, Eileen took a deep breath, lifted her head and looked at Henry. He was still sitting in his desk chair, with his head in his hands, and in the dim light from the window she could see the whiteness of his knuckles as his fingers clenched in his hair.

"I can leave," she said.

"If you want," he said flatly.

"Not really, but if you need some time to yourself – "

He raised his head, and one look at his face told her that leaving him alone was probably the worst thing she could do at that moment. His eyes were still closed, and he swallowed hard.

"You need your sleep. You have to work tomorrow."

"I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to."

He nodded, but didn't open his eyes. Suddenly, his hand reached forward, blindly groping in midair, and she raised hers and laced her fingers through his.

"I'm right here, Henry," she said as reassuringly as she could. "I'm right here. I'm me, and you're you, and we're in your room at my place."

"My room." There was something in his voice, just there…

"Yes, your room. This is your room now."

"Still?"

_WHAT? Did he really think – think that she'd –_

"Yeah. Of course."

One eye opened narrowly, and focused on her face. She smiled as confidently as she could.

"For as long as you want," she added.

"I just tried to…I almost – "

"But you didn't, Henry. You didn't. I'm OK, and I'm right here, and that's done with."

"No, it's not."

"Why do you say that?"

"It could happen _again,_" he said, and his voice broke on the last word. "And the next time – "

"Let's not worry about that," she said soothingly.

"No!" Henry pulled his hand away and glared at her. "You don't know – you don't."

"What don't I know?"

Henry just shook his head.

"So, tell me," she said. "What happened tonight, after we went to bed?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because…" Henry laughed to himself. "I was going to say, because you'd think I'm crazy. But I guess it's too late to worry about that now."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Crazy?"

"What the hell do _you_ think?"

Eileen looked at him critically.

"I don't know yet," she said after a while. "I don't think you are, though."

"I don't know yet, either." Henry took a deep breath. "But I know that I'm still unstable." The word hung in the air between them like a black cloud, but he continued on. "Now you know that too. I tried to hide it from the doctors, but I can't hide it from you."

"That's not all, is it?"

"I guess I have to tell you, huh?"

"I think I should know."

He sat back in his chair and put his hands on his knees. "I don't know where to start."

The bag that had held his old clothes lay open on the floor. He followed her gaze to it.

"How long have you – "

"Every night." He shook his head. "Since Monday. Took me most of that morning to find these." His fingers fidgeted with the bottom of the shirt. "For a while, I thought that you might have gotten rid of them."

"Why?" she asked. "The clothes, I mean."

"In case something happens. I know it can't any more, not like before. But still – after all of that, I'll be damned if we're going to be taken out by a burglar or something." He looked down at himself with a wry smile. "It…you wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"This is my armor. It makes me stronger, braver, you know. Like I was before. Yeah, it's stupid, but…it's necessary."

"It's not stupid."

"Yeah, it is. As if this old shirt could stop bullets." He laughed softly. "We found out the hard way that it couldn't, remember?"

_Dark blood soaking into the dirt by the orphanage…his skin had never felt so cold before…_

"Yeah."

"I know better, but I do it anyway. Guess I am crazy after all."

"That makes two of us," she said tiredly.

"What do you mean?"

She wasn't sure, actually – the words had just slipped out of her. "It's been...I...I don't know," she stammered. She was tired now, so tired, and rattled, and she just couldn't take this any more. She couldn't shake the image from her head – Henry, lying motionless on the cracked dirt, his skin white as paper…

She couldn't do this. Not now. She couldn't be weak in front of him. But he could always tell...

He must have seen it, because he was leaning toward her now, and the smell of old blood was stronger. His eyes were scanning her just like they used to.

"Eileen, what is it?"

"It's just...I don't see how you can think you're crazy."

"Are you _serious_?"

"Yeah."

"Why not? Everybody else thought I was. They probably still do. And – what happened. Just now. Not the sanest thing I've ever done."

The room fell silent.

"Look, Henry," she said after a little while. "I've got a lot of questions, but I don't know if it's OK to ask."

"It's OK."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I guess I owe you some answers."

"Has this…have you seen things before?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"How often?"

"Since I came back, not a lot. A couple of times, maybe."

"You are _not_ crazy."

"And you know this how?"

"Same thing happened to me, just now. For a few seconds, it was like I was back there again. So, if you're crazy for seeing things, then I am too."

"No, you're not."

"How can you be so _sure_?"

"Because if you were, we wouldn't be sitting here discussing this. We'd each be locked in our rooms, trying to come up with ways to avoid getting ambushed by the person next door."

She laughed, then it hit her. "Wait. Did you think that I was going to – "

"No. Well…not recently."

"I'm not going to, you know. Like I could anyway. You'd probably know I was going to before I did."

"If you were going to, you'd have done it in the hospital, when I was still out of it, before I started talking," he said matter-of-factly. "That would have been the best time. Nobody would have suspected anything if a violent, withdrawn, paranoid mute killed himself in his room."

_Don't talk like that!_

"You – you've put a lot of thought into this."

He shrugged. "Had a lot of time."

"That's just it," she said. "I've had time, too, but I haven't really thought about it – about things." She breathed deeply, then the words came tumbling out. "I've been doing everything I can to put it behind me, Henry. Everything. Every time I remember, or something reminds me, I think, _It's all over now. It's done with._ But it isn't, not really, or I wouldn't be thinking about it like that. And then I push it away and that's it...and…"

_Shut up, Eileen. This isn't about you. _

She looked up at him. He was still watching her with concern. That wasn't right. He shouldn't have to worry about her. Not now, not ever again.

"I'm sorry. It's just that, just now," she said slowly, "I've realized that I can't keep doing that."

"No. You can't."

"But I don't know what to do about it. I thought I'd be OK if I just put it behind me as fast as I could."

"It's going to take time, Eileen. Give it some time."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't want it to, I guess. I've just been keeping busy and trying to pretend as if it never happened. _That_ didn't work."

"Sitting around thinking about it all day isn't any better." His gaze moved to the flickering neon lights outside of the windows.

"Can I take your word for that?"

"Yeah. You can."

They sat there for a long time, together in the darkness. She looked around the room. He'd made a few changes to things, rearranged his books, moved the pictures around a bit. She looked for clues to him in that, in anything at all, but came up empty.

"What happened tonight?" she asked.

"I was…I was in here," Henry replied. "In this chair."

"You were awake?"

"Yeah."

"Have you gotten _any_ sleep since you came here?"

"A few hours here and there."

"If I'd known…"

"No big deal. Don't worry about it."

"Henry, I _have_ to – "

"Just don't," he said abruptly. "There's nothing you can do about it."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she stayed silent.

"I was here," he continued. "because when I try to sleep, she starts calling to me, and I can't sleep. So I was sitting here instead."

"What were you doing?"

"Just looking out of the window, I guess. Same as usual. And then – " Pause. "I don't really know what happened. I guess I started seeing things again."

"What did you see?"

Henry shook his head. "I can't tell you. Not yet. It was – it was like it was in my room, before. But I knew that something was different. I didn't know what it was, and so I took Richard's gun and went out front and sat there waiting to figure out what had happened."

"How long were you out there?"

"No idea. And then you came out and I thought that she was trying to trick me…" Henry put his head back into his hands. "And then I damn near killed you."

Eileen began to reach for him, but she stopped short and waited. After a minute or two he raised his head again.

_There's nothing for me to fear in his eyes. The look that was there before – it's gone now. Now…now, he needs me._

"It's going to be OK," she said quietly. "We have to believe that. As long as we take care of each other, we're going to get through this. We have to."

Then, his hand came up and brushed her hair behind her ear, so gently. She felt tears prickling behind her eyes.

"Do you realize," he said, "that we're the only two people left alive who have had to deal with this?"

"As far as we know," she replied. "The others aren't talking."

"There's nobody left. They're all dead."

"No, I mean – the others who've had run-ins with the cult. I've heard rumors of things happening, but nobody's ever really talked about it. Nobody knows what happened. It might have been different for them. No, it _had_ to have been." _There was only one Walter, thank God, at least as far as anybody knows._

"Damn right. There's no precedent for this, Eileen. No book, no guidelines. Nothing to tell us what we're supposed to do or think or anything."

"I don't know if that's good or bad," she said, shaking her head. "I wish there _was_ something."

"But there isn't. We're on our own here."

_How can he just accept it like that? No, maybe I get it a little. I guess he's been on his own since this all started. One way or another._

"So what do we do now?" She looked up to him automatically, seeking reassurance, strength, guidance, hope, as she'd done so many times before, then bit her lip a moment later. She _knew_ better than that, dammit.

"I don't know," he said.

"Just tell me..."

"What?"

"...tell me that we can do this, together."

He smiled at her. "I don't think we have a lot of choice. Unless you want me to go back to – "

"NO! Never!"

"I mean, I – I would, if – "

"You can't!"

He stared at her, wide-eyed. "Why not?"

"Because...because you ate the pomegranate."

That was all she had. He smiled to himself. "Yeah, I did."

"So...we have to now. Get through this."

"I guess so."

_Somehow._

More silence. The bloodstains on his shirt looked strange, different, in the flickering neon lights. They were old and brown now, not red and wet. Before she could stop herself, she'd taken a fold of his sleeve in her fingers and was rolling it back and forth, watching the soft, stained fabric bend and flex. The dark smudges were faded, with blurred edges, and no longer stiff.

_That means that time has passed. I __**have**__ to remember that. I have to._

She was going to be OK. She felt it, in that moment. She was OK, and maybe, just maybe, she could do this. Somehow.

"Eileen?"

She dropped her hand. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. Again."

_Please stop thanking me._

"We need to get some sleep," she said. "You more than me."

He laughed. "You're the one who has to go to work tomorrow. I get to sleep all day if I want."

"Can I..."

"What is it?"

She smiled shyly. "You're going to think I'm the crazy one."

"No. Remember, I know crazy."

"Can I...stay in here tonight? With you? Not like _that_, just – if it's OK…"

"Don't worry. I promise not to kill you while you're asleep."

"Me too."

He waved his hand over the bed. "Pick your side."

She could still smell the blood on his shirt. "Are you going to...uh...do you need your pajamas?"

"What? Oh." He turned away from her, crossed his arms over his abdomen, and lifted the bottom of the shirt. The white T-shirt came with it, and he pulled them upwards in one piece. She was stunned for a moment.

_He must have done this so many times, for doctors...it's routine for him by now. He doesn't even remember that it's me._

The layers of fabric got stuck around his shoulders for a second or two, and he pulled one arm free. Then, the room fell silent. Time stopped as he sat there, one arm behind his head, the other tangled in the mass of cotton, in front of her.

…_oh God. Oh God. No…_

Her eyes were refusing to process what was so clear in front of them. What was so clear – the stained shirts bunched around his shoulders, the familiar mop of brown hair, and –

_Ribs and skin and thick, ragged scars everywhere. No muscle, no fat, nothing but yellow-pinkish translucent flesh with scars slicing up and down, side to side, diagonally, held out by arced strips of bone sprouting like veins on a leaf from a line of spools curving in and out. An arm like a twig, looking as though it would snap at any moment. His shoulder blade looks sharp enough to cut right through the skin._

She ended up staring at a raised semicircular scar on his side, over the ribs. It curved over the skin for a few inches, up and then down again, with a shiny, hairless patch of flesh around it. She'd never forget how he'd gotten that scar – the time that Walter blew out his guts all over the dirt of the forest floor, when the shirt that he'd offered her just a few minutes before had been of no use at all to him.

And he was nowhere near as thin now as he'd been in St. Jerome's. Or as gray. He'd come a long way since then. Still, he looked like – like a corpse. More so than the ghost she'd seen in her dream. That had had flesh and muscle and skin, green and rotting though it had been. This was the real Henry, but he was a living, moving corpse…sitting on her grandma's old quilt, with his shirts half-off, like some nightmare come to life. But this wasn't just any B-movie special effect. This was…_Henry._

She felt her carefully-built composure falling apart.

_Oh God…I'm staring at…_

His head turned toward her, eyes hidden by his hair.

…_and he knows it._

"Give me a minute," he said quietly.

"Do – do you need – "

"No, I'll be OK."

She got to her feet somehow and made her way down the hall to the kitchen. As she washed her water glass, it fell from her shaking hand into the sink, and miraculously didn't break. The clean glass eventually went into the dish rack, and her hands gripped the edge of the sink as she took deep breaths and tried to pull herself together.

When she knocked again, he was in his pajamas. After they were under the covers, he passed one of the pillows to her.

"I don't have a clock," he said. "Do you need – "

"I'll be able to hear the alarm from in here," she said.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Are you OK?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" _Don't snap at him. It's not his fault that..._

He shook his head. "Never mind. It's late."

"Going to be a zombie tomorrow anyway," she grumbled. _What is __**wrong**__ with me?_

He searched her face for a moment.

"Good night," he said.

"Good night."

The bedside lamp clicked off, and she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. But the image seared into her memory was even more vivid with her eyes closed. Sleep wasn't coming any time soon. She peered at the pictures on his table, which were dimly illuminated by the multicolored light from the window.

_That one…that must be him, in the cap and gown. He looks so young. Maybe this is his high school graduation. Are those his parents there, too? They must be._

She squinted at the picture. The small, dark-haired woman next to Henry clung to his arm proudly. She was smiling, and so was he, but the man on the right wasn't. He stood by Henry's side, ramrod-straight, and she couldn't read his expression. Was there pride there…or something else? Anything? She realized suddenly that it wasn't the first time she'd had problems reading that face.

_I'll be damned. He looks just like his father. Henry's got darker hair, and maybe he's a little different around the eyes, too, but just like him. And his mother's there too…didn't he say that he had a Japanese grandmother? I'll bet that she was on his mother's side of the family._

She didn't know how long she lay there like that, but after a while she realized that he wasn't sleeping, either.

"You awake?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied. She heard him turn over to face her, but she couldn't bring herself to do the same. She remained where she was, looking at the photograph.

"High school," he said.

"Your folks?"

"Yeah."

"You look just like him. He's blonder, and his eyes are different, but otherwise…he's you."

Silence, then:

"More or less." His voice was inches from her ear, and he spoke quietly. "Mom told me once that I have my grandmother's eyes. I never knew her, so I can't say for sure."

Then, she heard him take a deep breath, and she knew what was coming.

"About earlier...out front…"

_Oh God, don't…please, don't._

"…you shouldn't have had to see that. Any of it. I…I don't know what to say. I'm…"

But that wasn't why she couldn't sleep, and he knew it. He was trying to take her mind off of what she had seen before she left the room just now, what had shaken her so badly, more than anything else that had happened. But now she could see nothing else, and closing her eyes just made it worse.

It had all been too much for her just then, but now she wasn't sure what was worse – seeing what it had done to him, or realizing that she'd lost her last bit of composure at that moment. She couldn't _do_ that. How hard did he work, every day, to act as if he was OK, as if everything was normal when it so obviously wasn't and _he_ so obviously wasn't? He was managing to hold it all together – most of the time, anyway – and she went to pieces just _looking_ at him. She was such a goddamn wimp – was she going to be able to deal with all of this?

_I'm going to have to. And I've screwed it up already, by letting him see how much it's gotten to me. Please, God, just help me to keep it from getting too much worse…_

"Don't be," she said. "It's OK."

"No, it's not. I'm…" He sounded embarrassed, even though he had no reason to be.

"It's OK. Really."

"If you say so."

"It is. And I do."

"It won't happen again."

_I know it won't. And I owe it to him to…to be straight with him. He's been honest with me._

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?"

"Reacting like that. Just now. I…God, Henry, I knew it was bad, but I didn't _know – _"

"It's OK. Remember when I got back, and I looked in the mirror? I…I didn't recognize _myself._"

Silence. She steeled herself and turned to him. It really was him there in that skinny, stringy body, in his eyes, in his expression, in everything about him. It really was _him_. He'd been through so much, before and then with her and afterward, things that she couldn't imagine…but somehow, he'd survived. Thank God.

"I recognize you," she said with a smile. "I haven't forgotten. I couldn't forget."

He smiled at her, and she felt a tear slip from her eye.

"Good night, Henry," she said.

"Sleep well."

She rolled over again. As skinny and sunken as he was, she could feel his body heat under the sheets. The warmth was so, so soothing. Funny how her eyelids were sinking so quickly now...

"Eileen?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

"Mmm."

And as she drifted off to sleep, a thought slipped into her mind.

_But at least now he's willing to talk to me about…about things. About how he is, about how he's dealing with everything. That's got to be something important. Maybe things aren't screwed up too badly yet._

The next morning, when she woke, he was lying on his back with his mouth open, snoring lightly, deeply asleep and dead to the world…and he was just Henry again. She brushed the hair back from his forehead and got up to start her day.


	17. Bullets and Pesto

That evening, when Eileen came home from work, she let herself in and dumped her things on the counter, as she always did. Henry came out of his room, took her hand in his and led her back down the hallway.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"No. But there's something you should see."

Henry opened the door of his room and steered her inside, then pointed to the top shelf of the closet. The bag was back up on the shelf, full again and tied closed. He put his arm around her shoulders and smiled at her. It caught her off guard – Henry wasn't usually spontaneously tactile.

"It's going to stay up there," he said. "I give you my word."

Eileen noticed that the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"You're going to be OK?" she asked.

"I'll have to be."

"Only if you're sure."

"Very sure."

* * *

From then on, things were better. There were no more worried late-night ruminations, no more dancing around touchy topics – and no more incidents with guns and hallucinations. Henry still had his sleepless nights, but those became less frequent, and soon he was sleeping through to morning more often than not. And when Eileen asked him if things were OK, he seemed to be answering honestly, so she felt better about that, at least.

It became clear, though, that it would be a long time before things could be anywhere near normal for either of them. It had been a while since Eileen had found reminders of their ordeal in everything she saw; now, it was more a matter of memories surfacing at unexpected moments. She knew that it wasn't just her, either. Henry would sometimes just stop in the middle of whatever he was doing, even in the middle of conversation, and stare into space. Within a few seconds, he would be back as if nothing had happened.

"Sorry," he said one time.

"Remembering?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess. Where were we?"

He was still keeping the revolver under his spare pillow. Eileen suspected that he always would.

One day, she came home from work to find a steel pipe leaning against the end of the couch, a baseball bat propped up in the corner of the kitchen island, and Henry on the couch with a book.

"Didn't know that you played baseball," she said as he came down the hallway.

"I don't," he replied. "I found that in Albert's in the buildings, the first time through. It came in handy a few times."

"Oh."

"And that," he said, nodding toward the steel pipe, "is part of this building's ancient plumbing."

She stared at him.

"It came out of the hole in my bathroom. Got knocked loose when the wall blew open. I took it with me, and it ended up being pretty useful for a while."

_I can only imagine._

"I cleaned the blood off of everything," he added.

"Uh…thanks."

"I also have my old axe under my bed, in case you need it."

"Why?"

"You never know."

_Isn't he being a little paranoid? Maybe not. If there's one thing we've learned from all of this…it is that you really never do know._

"Well, OK," she said with a smile. "Just as long as you don't use them on me."

"Never. But if I do – "

"I know that you won't."

"If I do – return the favor."

"I don't know if I could do that," she said.

"I don't want to put you in that position," he replied. "And I don't plan to. But promise me that you would."

"OK."

She walked down the hallway to her room, dropped her jacket onto her bed, and stopped short. In the exact middle of her pillow was his stun gun, sitting there like an after-dinner mint.

"Henry – "

He was leaning against the door frame now, staring balefully at the floor by her wardrobe. She turned to look, and saw her old stuffed Robbie the Rabbit sitting there, grinning up at him goofily.

_Does he have something against stuffed animals or something?_

"That's a stun gun," he continued, without taking his eyes off of the rabbit. "I found it in the prison. Works fine. Just press the switch and – "

"Yeah, I remember. I saw you use it."

"You should carry it with you at all times."

There was no point in arguing with him about whether she needed it, of course. So she slipped it into her bag and plopped down onto the bed to take off her shoes…and then she spotted the pistol on her night table.

"Ammo's in the nightstand," he said. "You remember how to shoot it, right?"

"Well, yeah. But is this really – "

He was still staring at the rabbit.

"Yes. It is."

* * *

Despite all of that, it was a few more days before the obvious question occurred to Eileen, as she was getting ready to leave work. She couldn't believe that she hadn't thought of it before, actually, but she managed to wait until after they'd eaten dinner and were washing the dishes.

"Henry?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to ask you something."

He put down the plate he was scrubbing. "What is it?"

Eileen put the glass in her hands into the drying rack by the sink.

"Do you…I don't know how to ask this."

"Go ahead."

"Do you…do you need to be somewhere else? I mean – not back at the hospital, but…well, do we need to move or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"She's still…bugging you, isn't she? And that can't be good for you. Wouldn't it be better if you – if we were somewhere where you didn't have to deal with that?"

Henry turned back to the plate and began to scrub again.

"Yes, she's still there. But no, it wouldn't be better to be somewhere else. I need to be here."

"Why?"

"Look, it wouldn't be fair to you to have to move because of me."

"We can do it, you know. There's got to be somewhere else that we can afford to live."

"Thanks," he said, as he passed her the plate. "I wish it were that simple. But it isn't. And – thanks for the offer. I mean it. But…I have to be here. I have to…"

Eileen waited, and after a few seconds Henry met her eye.

"I have to monitor her. Keep an eye out, in case…"

"You're not just worried about burglars, are you?"

"No. I'm not." His mouth was a hard line. "She's stuck in there, I know, but…I don't know what could happen, but if it does, I need to be here."

"It's putting a strain on you, though."

"Maybe – "

"I can see it. I know that it is."

"Yeah, it is. But I'm the only one who can do this, now. It's not over, Eileen. Not yet."

"Will it ever be over?"

Henry turned back to the sink. "I hope so."

They scrubbed and dried for a little while in silence.

"Not like there's anywhere better to go," she said. "Silent Hill's out of the question, Brahms is too expensive, Paleville would be a long commute – "

"And Marion and Shepherd's Glen are too weird," Henry said.

Eileen laughed. "Seriously. But you could say that about half of the towns around here."

* * *

A few days after that, Eileen came home from work to find Henry curled up in the chair by the front windows. He was wrapped in grandma's old quilt, with his hair sticking out from his head in clumps, eyes fixed on the outside world. The winter sky was already darkening into night, but people were still on the sidewalks and cars were passing by.

"Hey there," she said.

"Hey," he replied. He didn't turn around. "How was work?"

"Same old same old."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," she said.

"Good. Same is good. Always was for me, anyway."

_Huh. He seems chattier than usual._

Normally, she would have avoided disturbing him. But something was different today. She unloaded her things on the kitchen counter and walked over to him.

"Been here all afternoon?" she said jokingly.

"Almost."

"See anything?"

"It's a great view from up here," he said. "Always was."

She didn't think that it was very scenic at all, but she didn't say anything. She perched on the arm of the chair beside him and put her hands in her lap, and stared out of the window with him.

_What's there to see? Parking lot. Other wing of the building. The hotel across the way, and Fuseli's and the bar upstairs. Traffic, lights, people. Nothing special. What does he see? Maybe it's a photographer thing or something._

She tried to read the look on his face. As usual, she failed.

"I was thinking about the day that Frank showed me the apartment for the first time," he said slowly, as if in a dream. "The apartment itself was nothing unusual, but as soon as I looked out of the window I knew that I couldn't live anywhere else. That was it."

"Really? What did you see?"

"People," he replied.

She waited.

"People going about their business, living their lives. I…I didn't know what that was like before, and…well, you know."

She had no idea what he was talking about, actually, but she didn't want to say so.

"Out there," he continued. "Is it all still the same?"

"The same?"

He turned to her. "The same as before. Before everything happened."

She was confused. "Yeah. Of course."

He nodded. "Good. I hoped that it would be."

Then, she saw it. She understood, just a little. _He was thinking ahead, that night, to what might happen if…if Walter succeeded. It never occurred to me then, that this might have continued beyond us. Not until much later. But it did to him. Who knows what would have happened to all of those people…_

She put her hand on his back, over the quilt. "It's just the same. Everything. For better or for worse, nothing has changed out there."

"But it's changed in here. For us."

"Yeah."

"It probably won't ever be the same, Eileen."

"Yeah."

They were silent for several minutes. Eileen rubbed circles on his back, and shifted slightly to keep from falling off of the chair. He was still staring out of the window, and she couldn't see his face clearly. But she felt the tension in him, the excitement.

_People, he said…people living their lives. He doesn't seem like the peeping-tom type. When we were in Joseph's apartment and I found the hole in the wall, the one into my bedroom, he told me that he hadn't known about it until that morning. I knew that he wasn't lying to me. He seemed like the sort of person who isn't interested in other people at all._

_So what is it? Why did he spend the whole afternoon just looking out the window? Was it just curiosity?_

_Perhaps he's thinking about what might have been._

"There's room down here if you need it," he said.

"No, I'm good. Thanks, though."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"When's your next shopping day?"

She stared at him, baffled. "Tomorrow. Same as every week."

"You go to the place on the corner, right?"

"Yeah. Everybody does. You used to, too. I used to see you in there every now and then."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I want to go with you."

Her mouth dropped open. He turned back to her.

"I can't stand it any more, Eileen…being stuck inside all the time." He seemed to misread the look on her face. "It's not like that. I like it here with you and there's nowhere I'd rather be, but…"

"Henry, you – you shouldn't. You're still getting better."

"You mean, I'm still weak and tired all the time, right?"

"I didn't want to say it, but, well, yeah. And – "

"What?"

"Well…" _How do I say this without sounding…_ "It's just as busy as it always was. Cars, people, you know. I mean…would you really be up to it?"

"That's OK. I want to go outside. Just for a little bit. Stretch my legs. You know."

"But it's still cold out."

This time, he read her perfectly.

"Eileen, I try not to ask for much. You know that."

_I know. It's not your fault that…_

"I just don't want you to wear yourself out. That's all."

"I'm getting better. I've been making my own lunches, haven't I? You haven't had to come home to feed me every day."

"That's true, but…"

"And I'm getting stronger."

"Yeah, but – "

"And I haven't tried to kill you lately, have I?"

Something about that made her smile. "You haven't."

"I've been good, you know," he said plaintively. She could have sworn that he was trying to make puppy-dog eyes at her. Poker-face Henry, trying _that?_

"Damn you, Henry Townshend," she said, laughing.

He smiled. "If you don't tell the doctor, I won't," he replied.

"Promise me something, Henry."

"Anything."

"You'll rest all day tomorrow. No pacing, no digging through your things, no doing anything that you don't absolutely have to do. And when I get home, you'll bundle up before we go out, and if you start feeling tired you'll tell me right away."

"I will."

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. For once, his hand was warm.

"So…since you're coming along, is there anything that you're going to want to pick up while we're there?"

He thought for a few seconds. "Do they still have that really good pesto? You know, that comes in those little tubs?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"I'd like to get some of that. I've really missed it. And lots of pasta to go with it."

"God, you _are_ an Italian food addict."

He shrugged. "Doctor said I need to put on weight, right?"

"That's a convenient excuse."

"Yes, it is. But it means that I get to eat whatever I want, and once we have pesto there's got to be pasta. Want some?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Well, if you didn't, I was going to eat it all myself."

"I figured you would. We'll get extra."

He squeezed her hand again. "Thanks, Eileen. It's…I guess I wanted something to look forward to."


	18. Pesto

When Eileen got home the next day, she could tell right away that Henry had been as good as his word. He wasn't pacing around the front room, or washing dishes, or doing any of the little things that he usually did. In fact, he was nowhere in sight, and the apartment was dark.

She knocked on the door of his room.

"It's me," she said. "You OK?"

"….yeah."

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

She heard the bed creak, and she opened the door to find him just barely conscious. He pulled himself up, rubbed his eyes, and blinked at the light from the doorway.

"Have you been asleep all afternoon?"

"All day," he mumbled. "Got up for lunch."

"You up for this?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

She smiled. "Let's go."

As he dressed, she pulled the old wool coat from its hanger in the laundry room and dug out a heavy scarf for him. He came out of his room in old jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and a denim jacket that had seen better days. As he put on the coat and buttoned up the front, she wrapped the scarf around his neck until his nose barely poked out over the mound of fuzzy black wool.

"Ready?"

"Mmmf."

* * *

The store she always went to was just on the corner of the block, down the street from Fuseli's. It was an old corner market that had been there for as long as she could remember. Everyone in the neighborhood went there for their groceries. It was rare, actually, that Eileen went more than one visit without seeing somebody that she knew.

Henry led the way along the snow-covered sidewalks. His hands were jammed into the pockets of the coat, and he was walking quickly, energetically. What would have seemed sprightly in anyone else seemed almost unnatural for him in his current state, and Eileen worried that he was going to tire himself out before he was aware of it.

He stopped at the door of the market and stamped the slush from his boots as she came up behind him, and then he unwound the scarf from his face and tucked the ends into the coat. His eyes traveled over the bright windows with their colorful signs advertising the week's specials.

"Been a long time since I was here," he said. "It looks just the same."

"Told you."

He grinned and pulled the door open for her.

The inside was as brightly lit as always, and people were bustling around chatting and picking up what they needed for the evening or for the week as always. Eileen smiled to herself.

_Same as usual._

She bent to pick up a small shopping basket. As she headed to the produce corner, with Henry in tow, she got the feeling that something was wrong. It wasn't until they were standing in front of the lettuces that she realized what it was.

The store had become completely silent.

She turned around slowly. There were a dozen or so people there, faces she knew from her years of weekly shopping trips, faces she'd grown up with and chatted with and that were as much a part of the neighborhood as the buildings and streets. And all of those faces were turned toward her and Henry now, mouths agape, staring openly without a shred of embarrassment.

Henry was tall enough to see over the aisles, and he was scanning them for his pesto. And as he stood there, peering across the store and apparently ignoring the shocked stares, she realized what the problem was. She had become used to his appearance, and she didn't notice his sunken cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes any more. At home, he seemed normal to her. But in the harsh light of the supermarket the shadows fell more dramatically than they did in her living room, and she saw him anew.

_He looks like a death's head. Still. It's almost unnatural, how thick and brown his hair is and how it falls over his eyes and down his neck as if nothing had ever happened. It's worse, too, because it hides those eyes and all you can see are his thin lips and the boniness of his jaw and the sharpness of his nose. I wouldn't recognize him if I saw him like this after all this time._

He scanned the aisles for a few more seconds, then he smiled.

"You're right, they still do have it," he said. "I'd like to pick some up when we're over there. And some pasta, too."

"Yeah, of course," she said automatically.

"You needed green peppers, right?"

"Yeah."

His hand came out of his pocket, and the whole store watched as the thin fingers pulled a plastic bag off of the roll above the peppers and shook it open.

"How many?"

…_I can't believe it. He knows that everyone here is watching him do this, watching his every movement…and he doesn't __**care**__?_

"Three enough?"

As she watched, he looked over the stack of green peppers, plucked one off of the top, and dropped it into the bag. Two more followed it in, and he twirled the bag closed and dropped it into her basket. The peppers shifted within the thin plastic bag as they settled into the bottom of the basket, greenish-black in the harsh night light…

He was talking to her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Do you have the list handy? What else do we need?"

She pulled her shopping list from her pocket and handed it over. As he scanned the list, she tried to remember what was on it, where they needed to go next…and how to get their business done and get out of there as fast as possible.

"You know, that stir-fry's going to need onions," he said. "Two should be enough."

"The onions can wait," she said quietly. "Let's get your pesto and go."

"Why?"

She stared up at him. His face was calm.

"What's the rush? We don't have anywhere we need to be till eight – it's a new episode this week, I think. We should be done here well before then, right?" He smiled. "And there's a lot more on this list."

…_but don't you want to get the hell out of here too?_

He tore another bag off of the dispenser and turned to the onions. She watched as he pulled two small ones from the top of the stack and dropped them into the bag. Then, it hit her.

_He doesn't. That's it. He doesn't care at all. He doesn't care what people think. He doesn't care that they're being so incredibly rude. He doesn't care that they're all staring at him as if he just landed from another planet. He doesn't care that they think he's a freak. _

…_a __**what**__?_

_What right do they have to judge him like that, anyway? Maybe he really __**did**__ save the world. No, I __**know**__ that he did. They should be thankful. They should be helping him, asking him how he is. Instead, they're putting him through this. Treating him like a pariah. What right do they have? _

_Who the hell __**should**_ _care what they think?_

He caught her eye, and his eyebrow lifted. He always could read her like a book.

"What do you think?" he said, holding up the bag of onions and staring her straight in the eye. "OK?"

"Fine with me," she said, returning his look. He smiled and dropped the bag into her basket.

They began to make their way over to the canned tomatoes. Just then, a short, round woman with a cart, a baby and a little boy at her side pushed her way through the crowd toward them. Eileen recognized her as the young mother from 206.

"You're Mr. Townshend, aren't you?"

"Yes," Henry replied. "And you're Mrs. Howard."

"That's me," the woman said with a smile. "This is Mia, and down here is Jake. Jake, say hello to Mr. Townshend. He lives in 302."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she turned bright red. Henry bent down and smiled at the little boy, who stared at him in terror and shrank back.

"Hello, Jake," Henry said. "My name's Henry. Nice to meet you."

The woman stared down at the little boy clinging to her coat. "Come on, Jake, say hello to Mr. Townshend. Don't be rude."

The little boy's eyes were saucers.

"Jake, Mr. Townshend's the man who saved our building from that evil man last year. You remember. The least you can do is say hello to him."

_The least any of you can do. But you're all as scared as little kids. At least he __**is**__ one._

"Hello," the little boy piped up. "What happened to you?"

"JAKE!"

"It's OK," Henry said to her with a smile, and then bent to talk to the boy again. "That man your mother told you about was very evil. I had to work hard to stop him, and it made me sick. That's why I look like I do."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"Are you getting better now?"

"That's what the doctors tell me. But it's going to take a while."

The boy nodded. "I hope you get better soon, Mr. Townshend."

"Thanks, Jake. So do I."

Mrs. Howard reached downward and mussed Jake's hair, and the little boy smiled. "So…how are you?" she asked.

Henry straightened up again and shrugged. "I've been better, thanks." He laughed, and she did too. Eileen saw the faces around them relax in an instant. "I've been staying with Eileen for the past few weeks. She's been taking care of me."

"So I heard," Mrs. Howard said as she picked up baby Mia and began to bounce her. "After it was all over, nobody seemed to know where you'd gone."

"I was in the hospital."

_Clever, Henry. Give her only what people need to know. Nothing more. They don't need the details. None of their business. They can all go to hell._

Mrs. Howard nodded. "I'm glad you're back."

Eileen was still angry. _Are you really? Are any of you, really?_

"Well, it's been good to see you again," Henry said, "but we have some other things to pick up, and Eileen has to get me home before I get too tired." Eileen saw the poorly concealed curiosity on the faces surrounding them change to poorly concealed disappointment.

Mrs. Howard smiled at her. "If you two need anything, just let me know."

Eileen nodded, and as they turned away the store resumed its normal sounds. They collected the rest of what they needed, paid at the counter, and left.

It wasn't until they rounded the corner on the way back that Eileen looked behind her. They were alone.

"What the HELL is their problem?" she hissed. "Could they have been any ruder?"

"Possibly," Henry said. "I didn't know what to expect."

She stared at him. "You _knew_ this was going to happen?"

He shrugged. "Eileen, I know what I look like. I look worse than those damn ghosts did down there. I look like I should be dead. Hell, I look worse than I did when I – "

"When you what?"

He shifted the bag in his arms. "Nothing."

* * *

They walked in silence back to the apartment. Henry took off his coat and went to hang it up in the laundry room as Eileen started to unpack the grocery bags. She busied herself with the vegetables to take her mind off of things.

_Peppers and onions. Good ones, too. But damn, we forgot the lettuce…_

Something fell to the floor behind her with a clatter, and she spun around. Henry had dropped the coat hanger and was bending to pick it up.

"Need help?"

"No, I've got it," he said. Then, she saw his hand. It was shaking, and as she reached for the hanger, she saw his knees wobble.

_Oh hell…_

She hurried to him and grasped his arm.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

"…huh?" He sounded…far away.

"I'm taking you to bed, Henry."

"OK," he said. She looked up at him, and saw him blink as if he couldn't focus his eyes.

_He's about __**this**__ far from falling over right now._

She pulled him away from the closet and steered him to his room. The bedsheets were still turned down, and as he sat down on the bed she picked his pajamas up off of the chair and laid them next to him.

"Do you need me to – "

"No," he said, closing his eyes. "I'm OK now. I'll…I'll manage."

"Sure?"

"Yeah. Just…tired."

"OK."

"Eileen?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry. About …" He stopped, and took a deep breath. "About putting you through that."

"Don't talk."

"No. This is important."

She sat down next to him. "You didn't put me through anything."

"Yes, I did."

"It was a lot worse for you."

"It wasn't so bad."

_Yes, it was. _She opened her mouth, but closed it again. _Those damn people…but he doesn't need me sitting here bitching about them now._

"Well, I'm sorry that they – that they reacted that way."

"Can't really blame them. Like I said, I know what I look like."

"That's no excuse, though," she said. "But that's not all."

"What?"

"I'd bet that they've never met anyone who's done what you did."

Henry's face fell.

"I mean," Eileen said quickly, "someone who single-handedly saved the world."

"You helped."

"You know what I mean. Henry, I…"

"What is it, Eileen?"

She smiled. "You dealt with them so well. I'm so proud of you, I could burst."

"Proud…of me?"

"Yeah, of course," she replied. "You were great. You've come a long way, you know."

He smiled. "Thanks. I had to…I had to."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment or two. Then, Henry yawned, and Eileen smiled again.

"I should let you get some sleep," she said.

"I didn't think…that I'd get so tired. My own fault."

"Let's not do that again for a while."

"Sounds good to me." He put his hand over his eyes.

"Need anything?"

"No. But thanks."

She stood to leave.

"Eileen…"

"Hm?"

He was gazing up at her, trying to get the words out of his mouth.

"…we forgot the lettuce."

"Yeah. We'll manage."

Ten minutes later, she put her ear to his door. He was snoring. Loudly. She smiled and went to fix herself a snack.

But a few hours later, Eileen was curled up in the chair by the window. The mug of cocoa by her side had gone cold some time before, and her eyes were unfocused as she stared out into the dark winter night.


	19. Soup

A few days after the visit to the grocery store, Eileen came home from work to find the apartment completely silent. Usually, when she arrived the TV was on or Henry was on the floor working on a puzzle, or stretched out on the couch with a book. But the front room was dark, and there was no sign of him. It looked as if the room hadn't been used all day.

_No, that's wrong…there's a half-eaten can of soup on the counter. So he's been out here._

_But he doesn't eat soup! He won't tell me why, but he won't eat canned soup. And, he never leaves food sitting out like that. What's going on here?_

She dumped her bag and coat on the counter, and her eye caught the small stack of mail that he always left there for her. She'd told him that he didn't need to get the mail, that she could do it when she got home from work, but he did it anyway; she suspected that he only went downstairs when there was nobody around. Instead of being in its usual neat pile, it was scattered over the counter, and a couple of circulars had fallen to the floor, along with the spare key that he used to get the mail.

_Shit! Something's wrong._

His door was closed. She knocked lightly on it.

"Henry? It's me. I'm home."

There was no answer, but she knew that he was in there. Maybe he was asleep. But if there was something wrong…

"Can I come in?"

Silence. Her hand went to the knob, and she opened the door slowly. He was there, sitting in his desk chair, staring out of the window as if he hadn't heard her. His whole body slumped tiredly in the chair, and she bit her lip. Something was definitely up.

"Henry?"

She approached him slowly. His breath was coming slowly and evenly, and for a moment she thought that he might have fallen asleep. His hand was hanging loosely over the arm of the chair, and there was a plain white envelope dangling from his fingers. It was unopened.

"What is it?" she asked.

Still no response. After a couple of seconds, she reached forward and tugged at the envelope. It slid out of his fingers readily. She sat down on the bed next to him and turned it over.

_Addressed to him…here. But who knows…_

It was postmarked Silent Hill, and the return address was Brookhaven Hospital.

_Oh__** shit**_**.**_ This could be…anything._

"Do you want me to…"

He nodded. She slid a finger under the flap of the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper that was folded inside. As he stared out of the window at the darkening winter sky, she began to read the letter out loud.

_Mr. Townshend:_

_I am writing to you to inform you of actions taken by our hospital relating to your case. _

_When you came to us last August, your case was clearly an unusual one.  
Thiswas reflected in the length of your stay and the treatment you received from us.  
We believe that your rehabilitation was a success, and hope that you are doing well._

"Yeah, right," he said quietly.

"Rehabilitation? Makes you sound like a criminal or something."

He didn't say anything to that. She continued to read.

_As with all medical services, certain expenses were incurred during your time here that must be dealt with.  
In your case, the length of your stay and the nature of the work done, while necessary, were expensive,  
and the aggregate costs of your treatment are considerable._

She saw him stiffen, but he remained silent. His hands gripped the arm of his chair, and his knuckles were white.

_At this time, the exact nature of the events that brought you to us  
is only slightly more clear than it was when you arrived at Brookhaven.  
Nevertheless, the Ashfield Police Department has informed us that it has concluded its investigation,  
and finds that your actions, while still obscure, likely resulted in the saving of many, many lives._

"Damn right," she said.

_It is obvious that the cities of Ashfield and Silent Hill and the entire Toluca Lake area owe you a debt of gratitude.  
It is for this reason that you will not be billed for any of the expenses related to your stay with us._

Henry's breath exploded in a loud gasp. His head fell over the back of the chair.

_If additional treatment becomes necessary in the future, we will evaluate the situation independently.  
However, in light of the circumstances, we believe that it would be inappropriate to request payment for your previous stay at this or any time._

_We wish you the best, and express our gratitude for everything that you have done._

The letter was signed by the director of the Brookhaven billing department. As she finished, he leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Then, she was kneeling next to him and putting her arms around him. He was shaking.

"It's OK, Henry," she said quickly. "You heard what they said."

"I…I thought…I didn't know what I thought," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't know if they were coming to take me away again, or…"

"What? No! They…they _couldn't_!" _Oh my God. Has he been sitting here all afternoon thinking that they…_

"They did once," he said simply. "So I didn't know. It was either that, or…the bill. And I was too chicken to find out."

"It's OK. There won't be a bill. That's what the letter said. I got one like this from St. Jerome's after I left. It's real. It's OK."

"I know." He laughed harshly. "I'm still going to put that somewhere safe just in case they change their minds."

"Good idea."

Henry took a deep breath. "No way in hell I could have paid it anyway. My old insurance was minimal, and I don't even know if I'm covered any more."

"Well, you _should_ be."

"Maybe. Although, if there was ever a case that could be written off as an 'act of God'…"

"This would be it, right?" she said with a laugh.

"Yeah." He laughed a little. "But I could never have paid that bill. Ever. That scared the hell out of me."

"I could tell," she said quietly.

"Damn."

"What?"

He shrugged. "Guess it's harder to hide those things now."

"Well, you _were_ shaking."

"Was I?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"Why hide them, anyway? You've seen what happens when you do."

"Yeah. But…you shouldn't have to deal with all of it. It's not your problem."

"It is now."

"It shouldn't have to be."

"Well, I signed up for this, right? I knew that things were going to be messy for a while."

"Yeah. They are." He turned to her. "Eileen…"

"What is it?"

"It's not just about medical bills. I mean…it's more than that."

She sat back on the bed and took his hands in hers. He was silent for several seconds, then he took another deep breath.

"I don't…I have almost no money. I can't work, not until they let me."

"That's fine, Henry."

"I do what I can around here – "

"And you do great," she said reassuringly.

"That's not enough. Someday, I'm…I'm going to have to be able to stand on my own two feet again. If not now, then soon. I can't keep doing this to you. You shouldn't have to take care of me now, and that's bad enough, but the longer it goes the worse it's going to get."

"What's getting worse?"

"You've given up so much to take me in. You won't tell me about it, but it's obvious. When you're not at work, you're here, taking care of me. You don't get to go out and have any fun anymore. To do what _you _want to do, without dealing with me. It's more than I could ever have asked for, but I know that it's far too much. And the longer it takes me to…to get better…"

"Don't worry about me."

"Well, I do."

"Well, don't," she said with a smile. She squeezed his hands.

"It's not that simple," he continued. "I need my life back. Whatever that is now. I know it's never going to be the same again. So I need to figure out what it's going to be."

"And you have all the time you need to do that."

"Yeah, but…I'm…"

He looked away from her, and back toward the window. There was an unfamiliar look on his face, a wildness in his eyes, and it took her a second to figure out what it was.

Henry was terrified.

"I never realized," he said quietly, "how tough it is."

"What is?"

"Living. I mean, you know. Everybody goes through the motions. Sooner or later, we all have to get up in the morning and go to work and buy groceries and pay bills and get the car fixed and clean the bathroom and all of that routine stuff. But…"

_But it's much harder for you now, isn't it?_

"You don't have to worry about that now. Your job is to get better."

"But sooner or later I'll have to. That's the problem." His voice was rising now. "And I don't know…I mean, sometimes I can't even bring myself to look at the mail when I get it. It takes everything I have in the morning just to get myself into the shower. I'll sit there staring at the sink for fifteen minutes before I can get up to get a glass of water. I…I don't know what's wrong with me, but I know that I have to get over it. But I don't really know if I'm getting better."

"You will. Get better."

"So they tell me."

"Seriously. You are. I can see it."

"Doesn't feel like it a lot of the time."

Eileen didn't know what to say, so she leaned forward and put her arms around him again. He had stopped shaking, but he made no move to return the embrace. He just sat there, but she could feel the tension in him dissipating.

"The thing about the hospital," he said after a while, "was that…well, yeah, it was hellish sometimes, but all I had to do was sit there every day. I didn't have to do anything. They fed me and washed me and…it was like being a little kid again."

Eileen laughed a little. "Doesn't sound half bad."

"It wasn't, not that way. But now…" He pulled away and looked her in the eye. "If you asked me, right now, what I wanted for dinner, I don't know if I could tell you. The other night, at the store…it took everything I had to figure out which damn onions to pull from the pile."

"With all of those people watching your every move. But you did it," she said.

"Yeah. And I'm glad that I'm not the one who has to do that every day. I hate having to say this, but I'm happy to leave that all to you for now."

"And I'm happy to do it," she replied. "Hell, one good thing is that, if you don't know what you want, you won't be complaining about my choices, will you?"

He smiled for the first time since she'd come home. "Good point."

"You've got all the time you need, you know. Don't worry about the hard stuff. I'm paying those bills and doing those things anyway for myself. It's not as if I have to do twice as much now that you're here. Your job – "

"Is to get better. I know. You tell me all the time."

"Chicken or pasta for dinner?"

"Pasta sounds good," he said automatically, and she said nothing. Then, she smiled at him. After a second, he shook his head.

"You're sneaky," he said.

"Yeah. But see? You did it. You couldn't do that when you came here."

"You knew which I'd choose, didn't you?"

"Yeah. But I still wanted to ask."

"Now is where you tell me again that I'm getting better, right?"

"Well, you are."

He squeezed her hands and got to his feet, and as she sat there he reached for his old leather satchel and slid the letter into it, still in its envelope. "I don't plan to need any further services," he said. "Not now, not ever."

Then, she remembered. "What's with the soup?"

"What do you mean?"

"You ate soup. From a can. You told me that you didn't like canned soup."

"It's…I used to. Like soup. Ate a lot of it. But when I was stuck in my room, I started to run out of food. The only things I had left were a few cans of soup on the kitchen counter. And one morning I opened one up and found…well, it wasn't soup."

…_oh._

"So, why did you…"

"I had to find out if…if all cans of soup were full of rotten blood now."

"Ugh."

"Turns out that they're not. It's pretty good, actually."

"Well, you can keep that one. Now you've got _me_ off of the idea."

He laughed.

"Let's eat. I'm starving."

* * *

Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised. Really, it wasn't as if Henry hadn't proven himself resourceful enough that night…and, as she'd realized back in the hospital after they got out, almost nothing he could do would surprise her.

But when she walked through the door the next night, the smell of food that greeted her nose stopped her in her tracks – as did the sight of Henry standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. As she struggled for words, he lifted the ladle out of the pot, tapped it twice on the inside rim, and laid it on the counter by the stove.

And whatever was in there, it smelled _good._

"What…" she managed to stammer.

He turned around with an innocent look on his face.

"Soup," he said.

"Soup..."

"Soup."

"Why…"

He shrugged. "Can't live out our lives in fear of soup. That would be dumb."

"Yeah," she said with a smile. Then, she recognized the particular smell. "You've _got_ to be kidding."

"Well, you did have it in the cupboard."

"_Tomato_ soup? After what you told me about yesterday?"

"Of course. But it's OK. See?"

As she walked to the stove, he dipped the ladle into the steaming red liquid. He lifted it to her lips.

"Careful."

It _was_ good.

"Needs crackers. But it's not bad."

He smiled. "Told you."

She smiled, too. "Yeah."


	20. Joseph and Frank

Sometimes, Eileen would find Henry sitting in the chair in the front room, motionless, facing the windows that overlooked the other side of South Ashfield Heights. His eyes would be unfocused, staring far into the distance, but the rest of him spoke of intense concentration. Even though she didn't know exactly what he was thinking about, it was obvious where his mind was.

_And I still can't follow him there._

Concentration, intense concentration, but not distress or anger or anything alarming. He'd always been hard to read, but she'd gotten better at it over the months, and there didn't seem to be any reason for concern. So, she would leave him be then, and within an hour or two he would get up and go about his business. A few times, she could see in his hands the small red book that he'd asked about that first evening, but she never saw him open it. Ever.

_It means something to him, that's for sure. Even though there's nothing in it, it means something. What it is, I'll probably never know – and that's OK._

After a while, she began to occupy that chair regularly, too. At first, she told herself that she wanted to find out what he'd found so fascinating about the view. Long after she'd given up on that, she still ended up in that chair a few times per week. The movements and sounds of people and cars and weather ceased to be interesting after a while, and blended into a dull white noise. She was left with nothing but her own thoughts, thoughts that inevitably turned to the past – thoughts that could no longer be ignored.

At first, it was unnerving, being that open with herself, but after a while it didn't scare her any more. She could let the feelings and memories flow freely, as they had in St. Jerome's. Often the memories included things that she'd rather forget; actually, they usually did. But they couldn't be denied, and she knew that eventually, if she confronted them head-on, they would no longer hold any power over her. She would sit there for an hour, sometimes more, until she was done. Henry stayed out of her way until she got up and moved away from the window, and then their life would go on as usual.

One afternoon, she found herself staring out at the cold, glaring sunlight that reflected up out of the windows of the apartments on the other side of the courtyard. The sky was a clear blue, and the harsh light seemed to illuminate even the darkest corners of the building. On a day like this, the world seemed more safe. Nothing could hide in the shadows.

_Just like…that day in August, when we found Henry. It was so bright outside, just like this, but in his apartment the darkness seemed as if it would suck us all in, again. It nearly did, didn't it?_

_It was dark, so dark sometimes, down there. But it only seemed that way, I think – there was always light from somewhere. Things couldn't leap at us out of the shadows. They had no need to. It wasn't as if you could somehow get the jump on them by seeing them first, as if that would have helped anyway. They were always so strong, or so fast, and always so deadly. Thank God Henry knew what he was doing by the time he found me – he had to have, to have survived that long, and I was worse than useless – but even then, there were so many close calls, so many…_

Her eye caught the roof of the hotel across the street. The few times she'd looked at it before, its architecture had struck her as strange, but she'd thought no more of it. Today, though, the two dark holes in the brickwork on the roof seemed to be pointed at her like blind, cavernous eye sockets.

_Holes – like the hole we saw in Henry's laundry room, and the blocked-up hole in his bathroom. Holes…_

Holes like that terrified Eileen more than they should. They were forever associated in her mind now with being alone and tired and in pain and so, so terrified. She hadn't been able to see them that night, of course, but she knew they existed. Henry had told her so. They were his way of getting back to his room, he had said, and he used them only when necessary. One moment he was there, in front of her, and the next he was gone and she was left by herself in whatever circle of Hell they were trying to survive.

She'd felt so alone for those few minutes until he returned – so frightened, so helpless. He'd never left her in a dangerous place, never, but she couldn't help it. She'd never really known what it was to be alone, not before then, and the pain and fear were still very fresh for her. Too fresh. And looking at those holes now…

She stood up. Henry was in the kitchen, taking the clean dishes out of the dish rack and putting them back in the cabinets. As she stretched her arms, he pulled a glass from the rack, filled it with water, and drank from it. It was such a normal, everyday action…something that she'd never have imagined him doing before.

Before she knew it, she had walked up behind him and put her arms around him. She felt his muscles tense in surprise, but after a second he relaxed. He placed the glass on the counter, and his hand covered hers.

"Everything OK?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Really?"

She felt tears behind her eyes again. "No."

Then, she was in his arms, with her head on his chest. It took every ounce of strength she had not to cry. He said nothing, just held her like that for what felt like ages. His old flannel shirt was like a soft blanket against her face, and she snuggled into it.

"I was remembering…"

He rubbed her back as she tried to figure out what to say.

"It's OK, Eileen. Tell me."

_Damn. He __**can**__ read my mind._

"The holes. I was so scared, Henry," she said quietly. "When you were gone…when I was by myself."

"I know," he said. "I didn't want to leave you there alone, but you know that I had to go."

"Yeah. But I had no idea…why didn't you tell me about what was going on in your room? It must have been – "

"That's why I couldn't tell you," he said into her hair. "I didn't want you to worry about me. There wasn't anything you could have done about it anyway. What good would telling you have done?"

_True. But maybe…I could have shared a little of that burden, made it a little less heavy…_

"I don't want to remember," she said quietly. "Any of it. I know that I always will, but – not like that. I want to leave it behind, but it doesn't want to let me go."

"I know that feeling," he replied, and she knew that he was smiling. "I don't think we have a choice, not yet. We have to get through this."

"When will it stop…being like this?"

"I don't know."

Silence. She could feel his breath on her hair, hear his heart beating under his shirt.

"I miss Joseph," she said.

"So do I."

"He…he got us through that, you and me, right? With his notes and swords and everything?"

"Yes. That's how I found out a lot of the stuff that I told you."

"If not for him…"

_If not for him, we'd have been dead a long, long time ago. Both of us._

"Yeah."

"I wonder if he knows," she said.

"He was watching us, Eileen. I want to think that he was watching us, that he knew. I don't know if he saw it all those years ago, or if he was there that night, but I know that he knew. He saw what was going on, and gave us what we needed to keep going. I'm sure that he does."

She lifted her head to look at him. "You think so? Really?"

He nodded emphatically. "I can't prove that it was him pushing the notes under my door, but I want to think it was. And if it was, then he had to have seen how things ended. So I do." He shrugged. "I'm probably just trying to make myself feel better, but that's OK."

_Well, at least that's honest. I need to be that honest with myself, too._

"Do you think…do you think all that's still there? I mean, the other worlds and the ghosts? After he died, did it all disappear?"

"God, I hope it did," Henry said. "I don't know, though. I get the feeling that…"

"What?"

"…that all of the – energy, the power it took to create and maintain that hell – that she's got it now. Now that Walter's gone for good, he doesn't need it any more. Maybe that's part of what's keeping her alive. So, if that's how it works, then I'd guess that everything we saw, and all of the ghosts…that it's all gone."

"They're free. All those people who died."

"I don't know. But I hope so."

_Free, and at peace. Richard, Cynthia, the others he killed…please, God, let that have happened for them._

"You're right. Maybe we're just telling ourselves what we want to hear," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"Probably," he said with a small laugh. "We'll never know for sure. But that's the best we can do."

_And that's something I'll have to learn to live with._

_

* * *

  
_

There was a knock at the door. They both froze for a second. Then, the knock again, solid and firm.

"Miss Galvin?" The voice was raspy and shaky.

_Shit. It's –_

"Frank," Henry said under his breath.

"If we wait long enough, he'll go away," Eileen whispered.

"No," Henry replied. "He has to know I'm here."

Another knock. Before she could say anything, Henry let her go and crossed the room. The look on Frank's face when the door swung open was one in a million. His eyes were saucers.

"Henry?"

_Whoa. I've never seen Frank look...afraid. Is he afraid of –_

"Come in, Frank."

Frank looked from Henry to Eileen, and then back. He took a few steps into the room.

"Have a seat," Henry said, indicating the couch. "Something to drink?" He turned to close the door. His voice was cordial, but neutral. Too neutral.

_He's up to something._

Eileen stared at him. That damn mask was back in place, harder and slicker than ever, and she knew that he was doing it deliberately to make Frank uncomfortable. And it was working, all right. She didn't like where this was going, but at this point it was far too late to stop it.

Fortunately, Frank knew better, too. He crossed the room and took a seat on the couch as Henry pulled another glass from the dish rack and filled it from the tap. As Henry handed him the glass, Frank spoke to nobody in particular.

"I just..."

Eileen sat down next to Frank and shot Henry a look that said _Stop this now. Give him a chance. _ She turned to Frank.

"Thanks for the furniture, Frank. It's just what we needed."

"And for the coat." Frank's head shot up. Henry had filled a second glass with water, and sat down in the chair by the window. "It fit perfectly."

Frank's shoulders relaxed a little. "Henry, I – "

"Came by to see how we're doing?"

"Yeah."

Henry leaned back in his chair, water in hand. "Well, we're fine, thanks."

"And...and I – "

"You have some explaining to do, right?"

_Shit. But it had to happen sooner or later._

"Yeah." Frank took a deep breath. "I owe you an explanation."

"You owe both of us more than that." But there was no malice in Henry's voice, not at all. He wasn't being sarcastic, either. It was simply a statement.

"Yes, I do." Frank turned to Eileen. "I had no idea. I didn't know about...about Walter. You have to believe me. If I had known that this was going to happen – swear to God, I'd never have rented the room again. I just thought..."

Eileen took the old man's hand. It was shaking.

"What did you think?" she asked.

"I just thought – I don't know what I thought. I mean, it wasn't like...like weird things happened all the time. None of the other tenants ever had any problems. I mean, the toilet is a little touchy in there, but – "

"Still is. And you're right. You couldn't have known." Henry raised his glass of water to his lips and drank deeply. In the silence, Eileen found herself staring at his Adam's-apple as it rose and fell. Then, he lifted the glass to his face and looked through it. "After all, it's not like undead serial killers decide to bring back God in an apartment room every day. I don't remember anything in the rental contract about that. Perhaps it was in the fine print. Was it in yours, Eileen?"

Eileen was too stunned to say anything. She just stared at Henry's eye, magnified to a huge, deep green by the clear water. She knew the look in that eye, and she didn't like it at all.

"I'm guessing that it wasn't," Henry continued. "Still, it's too bad that it all had to happen right after rent was due. That's what I get for paying on time, I guess. A week or two later, and somebody might have given a damn."

Eileen's heart sank. _Jesus, Henry. Yeah, you've got a right to be pissed off...but..._

"Henry, you're – you're right." Frank took a deep breath. "I know there's nothing I can do to fix it, but – "

"I'm not angry at you, Frank. Just...I don't know. You've been good to me, before and after, and I can't get angry at you. I want to, but it doesn't work." He sipped the water again. "It's very frustrating."

_He does sound calm. Could it be that..._

"Eileen," Frank said, turning to her again. "I just came by to let you know – let both of you know – that if you need anything, _anything..._"

"Thank you, Frank," she said, patting his hand.

"I mean it. Anything at all. Just let me know."

"You've done so much already."

"Not enough," he replied. "Not enough."

Frank got to his feet, and so did she. The old man straightened himself up, and took a long look at Henry, who remained in his chair, staring at his glass.

"I could have done more. That's what I...that's what I have to remind myself. I should have learned that a long time ago." He smiled at her tiredly. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him smile. "Any time of the day or night. Just call me."

"I will."

* * *

When Frank was gone, Eileen turned to Henry.

"What the hell was _that?_"

"What the hell was what?"

"Freezing him out like that. What gives, Henry?"

"Haven't had to do that since I left home." He stood up slowly, reached to pick up Frank's untouched glass, and crossed the room to the sink. "Which is good. It really takes it out of you."

She watched him wash out both glasses and return them to the dish rack.

"You _could _have been nicer to him. He seemed as if he really meant it."

"Probably," Henry said, as he dried his hands on the dishcloth. "And there's any number of things he could have done differently that would have stopped this from happening."

"But he didn't _know_. He couldn't have known."

"And that's the problem. That's what frustrates me so much. I want to get angry enough to smash his face in, but I can't."

"I don't know if I've ever seen you _that_ angry."

He smiled a little. "Doesn't happen often."

"God knows you have every right to be," she replied.

"I know. Honestly, like I said, it's frustrating. I _want_ to, but I can't." He leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms on his chest. "Just like I want to get angry at you for not noticing that I'd disappeared for days before, or for a week after, but I can't."

Eileen was thunderstruck. It was one thing to _know_ that she'd let him down in the worst way. She'd realized that at that moment in St. Jerome's, watching him in his cell, and it had been a thorn in her side ever since. But to hear it from his own lips...that was something else.

_Had I…had I somehow hoped that he wouldn't figure it out? What an idiot you are, Eileen. Of course he was going to. And then…_

Her stomach turned. She wanted to vomit.

"I can't get angry at anybody," he continued. "Not even at Walter. He was human, once, too, and that's hard to forget." He smiled ruefully. "Dad always said I was too soft. He said a lot of things. But he was usually right."

_Soft? Henry? __**You**__? What the hell is going on here?_

Nothing he was saying now was making any sense. Eileen spluttered for a second, then she finally managed to speak.

"Bullshit, Henry! You're _not_ soft. Am I supposed to believe that anybody ever thought you were? That's – that's ridiculous. And Walter – you were right about him, down there. What you said, in the foyer, when I was wasting my time worrying about him. You knew that he was too far gone, long before I ever did. And now…after everything that he did, how can you _say_ that he was still human? In any way? No. He couldn't have been. Not to do that to all those people, and don't forget that he did it to _us_ too. _Us!_"

Damn it, she wasn't making much sense, either. But she had nothing – nothing but her anger and embarrassment. Anger at herself, at what she'd done, and embarrassment at being called on it, justifiably or not. She knew that she was in the wrong here, that she and everybody around him had failed him in the worst ways possible, that she was just lashing out irrationally at the last person in the world who deserved it, but she couldn't stop herself.

Henry said nothing, and just stood at the sink, staring at the floor. She kept going – it was too late to stop now. She owed him that honesty, even if it cost her…everything.

"Well, maybe you don't blame Frank, but I _do!_ This wasn't the first time it had happened. He should have done something – called the police, broken down the door, I don't know what – even if it hadn't helped, at least he could have _tried_. Just like _I_ could have tried, could have checked on you, could have called Frank days earlier than I did as soon as I thought something might be wrong. But I didn't. And neither did he. And nobody else did – none of the rest of the people who live here, whose lives you saved just as you saved mine – nobody did a damn thing. Nobody.

"And now, after everything that everybody has done – or not done – to you, all those days stuck in your apartment and that night of hell that Walter put you through, oh, and let's not forget the _week_ that I left you in your room to _die_…after all that, you're not _mad?_"

…_I've laid it all out there, on the line. There's no taking it back…but whatever happens, it's what I deserve._


	21. Henry and James

The silence in the room was thicker than fog. Eileen caught her breath and waited. After an eternity, Henry's head lifted as if in slow motion, and his gaze turned to the windows. Eileen could barely hear him speak for the ringing in her ears.

"This doesn't involve you," he said flatly.

"Yes, it does," she said. "We're in this together."

"Like I said before. It's not your problem. It's mine."

"If it's going to make it difficult for us to get along, then it _is_ my problem. Is it?"

"So, send me back to Brookhaven."

"Like hell."

"Fine," he said. "Since you won't leave it alone – yes, I _am_ angry."

She held her breath.

"I'm angry." His voice was slow and firm, and he spoke deliberately. "I'm angry at Frank, for letting this happen. Again. I'm angry at you, for…"

"Tell me," she whispered.

"I'm angry at you for the week before you found me. And I'm much more angry at Walter for putting you and me and all of those other people through his personal hell. But he's not the one I'm really angry at. Neither are you, and Frank isn't, either."

"…who?"

Silence. She watched him breathe deeply, slowly, in and out and in and out. His next word was inaudible.

"What?"

"Me," Henry said. "I'm angry at myself."

"_Yourself?_" she blurted. "That doesn't make any sense."

He laughed harshly. "Tell me about it."

"What the – _you?"_

"Yeah. Just – "

"_Why?_ Why on _earth_ – _"_

"I DON'T KNOW!"

She hadn't known that he could explode like that, either. There was anger and shock in his eyes. His hands gripped the edge of the counter as he took a deep breath. The words were still ringing in her ears.

After a minute or so, he raised his head. That look was still there, in eyes that had gone a dark green now, almost black. These were the eyes of a stranger. She thought she knew him, as well as anybody, but she'd never suspected any of this, never really had any idea what was going on in his head. All of this time – all of these months, there must have been so much that he'd kept to himself, that he hadn't shared with her, with _her_ of all people – why hadn't he told her? He had to have known that she would understand.

Or, maybe the fact that she'd had no inkling of any of this meant that she wouldn't have understood at all.

"I'm angry at myself most of all," he said simply. "And I do know why. It just doesn't make any sense. There's no point in trying to explain it."

"Try me. Why?"

He shook his head. "So many things."

"You have no reason to be – "

"I have _every_ reason to be."

"Why?"

"I don't want to talk about this. Will you stop?"

"No."

"You're stubborn."

"So I've been told."

He leaned back against the kitchen island and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes roamed about the room.

"Jesus, Eileen, where do I begin?"

Eileen waited.

"You know," he said, "after all of this time, you'd think I'd have figured things out."

"It's OK," she said automatically. But Henry was staring off into space as if he hadn't heard her.

"I wanted…I never wanted anything but to be left alone to live my life by myself. It's not really that much to ask. Or, at least that's what I thought I wanted. I – I was too stupid, too oblivious to see what that was really costing me. It didn't matter, as long as I could do what I wanted to do and not have to deal with other – with other people. That's all that mattered to me, and I thought that I was happy…until I woke up one morning and my door was stuck shut, and I realized that that was all that I had left. And after I saw what I'd lost, I knew that it wasn't enough, it never could have been enough, and that I'd been an idiot.

"Soon, I was left with only my rapidly decaying apartment and a headache and a lack of sleep that got worse every day. Then, that hole opened in my bathroom wall, and everything started happening. Things were happening around me, to me, to other people, and I had no control over anything that was going on. It didn't take long for me to see how useless I'd become, how completely…_redundant_. I thought that I didn't need the world, but now I saw that it didn't need me, either. I'd never – I'd never thought about that before. Somehow, I'd assumed that it would always be there for me, but…

"Then people started dying – and then _you…_"

"There was nothing anybody could have done, Henry," she said quietly. "It wasn't you. It was – "

"Let me talk," he said firmly. "I've – God damn it, Eileen, I've never been so damned helpless before. Since I was…for a long time, I've had to be the one to take care of things, for myself and sometimes – for other people. This isn't supposed to happen. I'm supposed to be able to deal with things. And I couldn't even get out of my goddamn _room_. At least, not without going into one of Walter's hells. There was nothing I could do about it, for you, for me, for any of them. Nothing. _NOTHING!_"

The last word came out as a bellow, and a bony fist slammed into the countertop, hard. Eileen shrank back against the counter. Henry took a few seconds to compose himself.

"I was too focused on getting myself the hell out of there," he said. "That didn't help. They died because I wasn't paying attention. I was so wrapped up in my own problems, I had no idea what was going to happen. I could have gone after Cynthia when she disappeared. I could have kept an eye on Jasper, at least to make sure that he wasn't going to come after _me_. I could have warned Andrew and Richard that something was up, but I didn't. Would Walter have gotten to them anyway? Maybe, maybe not. But they might have stood a better chance if I had thought more about them and less about saving my own skin.

"I know what you're going to say," he said, holding up his hand to stop her. "You're going to tell me that I did my best, that nobody could have done better, that there was nothing I could have done to save them. You've told me that before. But I'll never know that for sure. Not really. I realized that at Brookhaven, early on, and I've spent the months since trying to figure out how to live with that. I don't _know_ whether I should be angry with myself, but I am anyway. Whether I like it or not."

Eileen was silent.

"See, it's been drilled into me for as long as I can remember," he continued. "You have to watch out for yourself, then you can deal with other people. That's what he told me. I never liked that. It seemed too selfish to me…but as it turned out, that's exactly what I did. It wasn't right then, and it isn't right now. But after all this time, I see now that he was right, kind of. I mean, how could I take care of you and keep you safe if I couldn't even stop myself from getting killed?"

He met her eyes, and the blood drained from her face as she realized where this was going.

"You remember." His words were a whisper. "In the forest. I died then, Eileen. I didn't realize it then, but I know it now. Tell me I'm wrong."

How could she ever forget? And how could he bring himself to talk about it?

"N…no. You're right. We made it back to Wish House, just barely, and then you collapsed and – you were so cold and pale…and then you stopped breathing."

"How long?"

"A few minutes, maybe. I don't know. It felt like forever."

"You were crying when I woke up."

"I thought that…"

Henry nodded. "So I did die. And Walter brought me back to life." He laughed harshly. "God forbid I should screw up his plans by dying ahead of schedule, right?"

"We were all puppets then, Henry. Walter's puppets. But he's gone now."

"He won't _ever_ be gone, Eileen. Can't you see that?" He shook his head at her angrily. "He's dead, but what he did will never go away. Nineteen people are dead, and we're _still_ dealing with it. The fact that we're standing here, talking like this – that I'm telling you these private thoughts, thoughts I'd planned to keep to myself – isn't that enough proof? That you're left to take care of this…this broken _shell_ full of nothing but frustrated anger and guilt who can't even manage on his own any more?" He slammed his fist into the countertop again, and she saw him wince from the impact.

"Too goddamned _feeble…_" he muttered.

_Henry…_

"That's not the way it is. You're not making any sense."

"No kidding," he spat. "Well, I haven't had to since I went to Brookhaven. Why should things be any different now?"

Eileen had no idea what he was talking about. None at all. She remained silent.

"Look, here's the thing," he said. "Yes, I _am_ angry at Frank, and at Walter, and at you. But the reason that I'm angry at myself is that – that somehow it seems as if I have no right to be."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because when I look back at it, you didn't really do anything wrong. What's the saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Well, that's what we've got here. That's _exactly _what happened. A FUBAR of the first magnitude because of people doing the wrong thing. Not out of malice, or anger, or anything like that. Just – misguided people.

"It all starts with Walter, of course. None of this would have happened without him. That's obvious. But he went through more hell when he was young than anybody should have to, ever. It screwed him up more than anyone could ever understand. He lost everything when he was only a few minutes old. _Everything. _All he wanted was his mother back, and he was ready to do anything to make that happen…even if it involved bringing twenty other people into his hell forever. He was broken, delusional, sociopathic…but he was human once, too, and it's hard to forget that. You remember how hard it was."

Yes, she did. She'd felt this irrational sympathy for him toward the end, standing there in the apartment entryway with his sketchbook in her good hand, and Henry had had to shake her out of it…almost literally. She'd been so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now, he was having the same problem, it seemed. But at least he was aware of it.

"He did what he thought he had to do, what he'd been brought up to do," Henry continued. "He had to have known that it was wrong, though. Whatever...humanity that he had left after that cult had screwed him up, it had to have told him that slaughtering twenty-one people was wrong. And he tried to do it anyway. Damn near succeeded, too. But from what I saw, I could tell that he wasn't malicious, and he wasn't evil, not really…just very, very delusional and misguided. It wasn't about hurting people for him. They weren't even people to him, any more. They were just tools in his plan.

"But it's the same thing with you and Frank. Not as bad, but the same idea. You had no reason to think that anything was wrong…but still, you could have done _more_. Frank could have avoided renting out the room after Joseph disappeared, after he heard those strange noises and saw those strange things, but he didn't. You could have checked the apartment, to see if I'd really left, but you didn't. The problem is, why would you have? Why would he? Neither of you had any reason to. There was no really good reason to think that anything was wrong. Just doing those things could have made a huge difference, but neither you nor he can really be faulted for it. I _want_ to, so much, because we know better now…but I can't. I'm angry at both you and him. Very, very angry, but I'm _more _angry at myself because I know that you didn't mean to do any harm. So, I can't really get good and mad with you, and like I said that's frustrating as hell."

Eileen wanted to put her hands over her ears, to shut this out and pretend as if it had never happened, but she couldn't. Part of her wanted Henry to keep talking, about anything at all…because when he stopped talking, it would all start to make sense, and that would be so much worse. It was already making far more sense than she was comfortable with.

But as bad as it would be, it was nothing, _nothing_ compared to what he'd suffered because of her.

_Suck it up, Eileen. You wanted to know how he felt, right? Well, now he's telling you. Deal with it._

Henry turned to look out of the window again. The shadows outside had moved since Frank had left, and the afternoon light was just starting to creep into the room. The silence that fell was near-suffocating.

"When I was a kid," he said after a while, "I used to stew about the smallest things. Every little thing that went wrong bugged the hell out of me, and I never let them go. It wasn't right, you know? It wasn't the way things were supposed to work. That drove me nuts. Worked myself up at the drop of a hat. Then…well, things changed, and I didn't do that any more, but I held grudges like you wouldn't believe. Now, that's gone, too. It's all gone. I don't have that luxury any more. I'm still trying to figure out where that leaves me.

"What good would it do me to be angry now, anyway? It's all in the past. I can't go back and change things, as much as I would like to. People are still dead, my room is still possessed by a half-born demon or god or _whatever_ the hell she is, and what's happened to you and me and everybody else can't be undone. Being angry – well, it's not only pointless, but if I let it get to me…she wins, Eileen. She wins, and so does he. And there's no way in hell that I'm going to let that happen."

"But – dammit, Henry, something's got to give! How can you stand there and tell me that – that you don't think you can get mad about everything? That's unnatural!"

The words were out of her mouth before she realized how they sounded, but he just shook his head.

"Perhaps I'm unnatural that way," he said. "Perhaps…it's just how I was made." There was something unreadable in his face, something that she couldn't touch.

"Look, Eileen, it's like I said before. I don't know. That's all I've got. I don't know why I can't let myself hate Walter. For what he did to me, and for what he did to you and to all of those other people whose lives he ruined. I don't know why that isn't enough to work up a good, healthy, blind hatred for him and what he's done. I should be able to, but I can't. I should be able to hate you and Frank for leaving me in my room to die. But it's just _not happening_. As much as I don't _want_ to let myself get angry, I know that I need to, and I haven't figured out what to do about that yet. It's…I can't explain it.

"So, I don't know what to tell you now." Deep breath. "Maybe I never will. I'm angry at myself for letting them die, I'm angry at myself for wanting to blame you and Frank and Walter, and I'm angry at myself for not being able to _get _good and mad in the first place. It's all screwed up, I know, but that's what it is. I don't know what you want from me, but whatever it is – I'm sorry, but I can't give it to you."

He sounded tired, so tired.

_God, I...this is the last thing I'd expected, every. I screwed you over, twice, with my laziness, and left you to stew in that bitch's clutches for a week. You nearly died – again – and look at what it did to you. God only knows if you'll ever really be OK again. I could do everything for you for the rest of our lives, everything, and if you'd spit on me and told me you'd never wanted to see me again, I'd think I'd gotten off easy...and now you tell me you can't get __**mad**__?_

"Can't – can't you yell at me or throw things or stomp around or _something_ like a normal person?"

"I wish."

"But – what are you going to do about it?"

"Like I said. No idea."

"You've got to do _something_."

"Well, it's not like I'm going to walk out. Nowhere to go."

"This place is yours for as long as you want it. But if you want to go – "

"I don't. Really." He smiled. "Just kidding."

"I wouldn't blame you."

"I know."

"Jesus, Henry…I just don't get it."

"Neither do I. Guess that makes two of us."

Then Eileen remembered that day in Brookhaven, that day when she'd spoken to Andy and found out the true extent of Henry's damage. He was dangerous, unpredictable, violent – but she had somehow known that he would never hurt her. Never. She had known that she _should_ have been afraid of him, should have always been watchful around him. After all, he could have killed her so easily, if he had wanted to – she'd seen that that night with the revolver in her front room, too. But she just couldn't work up that fear. It wasn't happening, even though she knew it should.

_So…maybe I do understand, a little. Maybe after all that we've been through – all that __**he's**__ been through…maybe it's been burned out of him, somehow. Forever? I hope not…_

Then he looked at her. He was tired and wrung out, but she could see in his eyes that he meant what he said. He really wasn't furious with her, like he had every right to be. It was unbelievable, but true. She felt herself deflating…and then guilt, heavy, black guilt, stepped in to fill the void.

_And I started bitching __**you**__ out because of my stupidity, because of feeling guilty because of something __**I**__ did, something that nearly got you killed, __**again**__._ _Again, I've been a total idiot, and it's not your fault I'm an idiot, it never was, and now I've proven it once and for all, and sooner or later you're going to realize that and hate me, you've __**got **__to, and…and…and now I've…_

That was the last straw. She couldn't take it any more. She burst into tears right then and there, and she had never been so angry at herself in her life. _She _was supposed to be the strong one here, _she _was supposed to be taking care of _him_, and now _she_ was the one falling apart in the middle of her kitchen. Right in front of him. How could this get any worse?

Then, it did.

"Eileen! No – what – don't cry...it's OK..."

Now she was in his arms again, sobbing against his shoulder, and it was ten times as bad as before. She found herself pummeling his chest in blind anger and frustration. This was getting worse with every second, and although he was growing stronger every day, she couldn't help thinking that if she didn't get a hold of herself soon she was going to break something in him and send him back to the hospital.

_Wouldn't __**that**__ be just __the perfect way to end this. You really are an idiot._

She struggled to free herself before she did something else stupid, but she couldn't even do that. He was holding her too tightly. So she was stuck, stuck with her face in his shirt again, crying and hitting him more and more weakly until she finally wore herself out.

"That hurts," she sputtered.

"So do those fists of fury."

That made her laugh in spite of herself. Then, she choked on her own tears and started coughing, and he laughed and smacked her lightly between the shoulder blades. Soon, she lay still again, with no idea of what to do next.

His hand came up under her chin, and he lifted it and looked straight into her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

She was so afraid of what she would see in his face, but she steeled herself and looked back at him. His eyes were back to their usual green, and were trying to read her, to see beyond her tears.

_I don't know where to start...well, I'm the biggest moron that ever lived, but…_

"I…I'm confused," she blurted.

"Like I said, that makes two of us," he replied.

"I can't believe you're not angry."

"Well, I'm not."

"Doesn't that bother you at all?"

"Like I told you. It does."

"Sure doesn't seem like it sometimes," she grumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"Like now. You can talk about it like that. Just – just _talk_ about it."

"I've had a lot of time to get used to it."

"You're sure that you're not mad, huh?"

"Only at myself, like I said. Do you want me to be?"

"Yeah."

"At you?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I deserve it."

His hand left her chin. "Sorry, but you're outta luck on this one." He reached behind his back, and pulled a paper towel off of the roll by the sink. She took it gratefully and blew her nose into it, then tossed it over his shoulder into the sink.

"Nice shot."

"Thanks."

Eileen looked around for a corner into which she could curl up and die, but nothing doing. She was too tired to think, too wrung-out to do anything…and Henry wasn't about to let go of her any time soon.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

"Do you have to ask?"

"No. Not really. But…"

"Look, I'm being straight with you here. As straight as I can be. That's all that I can give you now."

"From what I've seen, it's a lot for you to give."

A pause. "Yeah, it is."

"You…you don't hate me?"

Silence. She stared at the floor and listened to him breathe.

"Because you should," she said after a few seconds. "I…I left you to die in there, Henry. I didn't mean to, but I did anyway."

She felt something touch her head, and before she knew it she was looking up into his face again and he was stroking her hair gently.

_I don't think I see any hate there…but admit it, Eileen, you're too chicken to really look. And you never could read him, anyway. If you've learned anything from this, it's that._

He shook his head. "I'm tired of people telling me what I should and shouldn't do."

_That_ made sense. "If I were you, I would be too," she said to his clavicle.

"This isn't what you signed up for."

"Neither of us did."

"No, guess not."

She felt the tears coming again, and she wasn't going to be able to stop them.

"Come here," he said.

He pulled her back against his shoulder, and they stood there for a long time as he stroked her hair and she tried to quiet her mind. He'd done this before, when they were down in Walter's hell that night, more than once. Even then, when they were still strangers to each other, she'd found it irrationally comforting. She couldn't remember where it had been or what had happened, though. Now, she didn't want to feel better, but she couldn't help that, either, and she was too wrung out to struggle free.

_That's it. In that damn concrete prison where they kept the kids. I nearly fell through one of those holes in the floor during one of my fits. Just another time that I would have died if he hadn't been there – and I ended up in this same place, with my nose in his neck, blubbering and soaking his shirt just like I am now._

So, she found herself relaxing into him just as she always did. The softness of his shirt was soothing, as was the strength of the arm holding her and the gentleness of his fingers in her hair. He smelled like himself, too, and as she stood there she could feel his heart beating strongly in his chest. She could feel how _alive _he was, how really solid and real. He was there, with her, and that was all she needed just then.

After a few minutes, she couldn't deny the inevitable any more. It was going to be OK. Then, he released her slowly. She felt a pang of regret.

"I look like hell," she said for no reason at all, through the hair stuck to her swollen, wet face.

"You look beautiful," he replied as he pushed the strands from her cheeks.

"That's what you always say," she said with a little smile. "You said it in the prison, too."

"It's always true."

"I'm an idiot, Henry, and I'm so sorry."

"Me too."

His hand found hers, and he squeezed it tightly as he led her over to the couch. They sat down, side by side, and she leaned her head on his shoulder and put her arms around his waist. They kept their thoughts to themselves as his hand stroked her hair and the shadows in the room moved.

After a while, he shifted to one side as he reached into his jeans pocket with his free hand and extracted a folded piece of paper.

"What's that?"

"Part of the reason I couldn't go off on Frank just now." The paper crackled as he unfolded it. It was a lined sheet from a yellow pad. "I just found it today, in the inside pocket of that coat that he gave me. I must have missed it before." She leaned closer to see as he started to read aloud.

_Henry:_

_I hope that you can wear this. Eileen tells me that she's going to bring you back soon, and it's too damn cold out there.  
We didn't find a coat in your closet, so you're going to need one._

"My old one finally fell apart last winter," Henry said. "I'd been planning to try to find something when winter stuff went on sale in the fall. You know. But that coat is a lot nicer than anything I would have gotten myself."

"It's very nice," she agreed absently.

_This used to belong to my son. He was about your height and size, and so I hope that it fits.__  
It was a favorite of his, the one he wore whenever he took Mary out for a nice dinner.  
Cost him a lot of money, too, but she loved it so much that he got it to make her happy. _

_When she lay dying, she asked him to leave it with her, in her room, so that she could have a part of him there.  
And he did. Then, after – after, I found it in his room.  
I've never told anybody that. But I think that you should know.  
You and he are different in many ways, but you remind me so much of him sometimes._

_Henry, this is my fault. I failed you, like I failed him.  
Both of you would be here now if I'd done what I should have, so long ago.  
He's never coming back. I know that now. It's been too long.  
This is the least I can do. James would have wanted you to have this. It should be yours._

_Frank Sunderland_

Eileen kept her head on his shoulder and held him more tightly.

"I never knew his name," he said quietly. "Not before today."

"I was a kid when he was here," Eileen replied. "Just a girl. He always had a smile for me or a joke. He was good-looking, too. I was old enough to notice that," she said with a smile. "Then, he found Mary, and she became his world. I barely saw him around, but when I did I could see the happiness in him. After they got married, they moved out, and I saw them maybe once or twice before they disappeared."

She could see James in her mind's eye now, just as he'd been when she was younger, smiling that smile that he always said was just for her…and she knew that he would have understood.

"Frank's right," she said. "James would have wanted you to have his coat."

"You think so?"

"I'm sure of it. He was a good guy."

"He was a little taller than me."

"Yeah, maybe an inch or so."

"A little leaner than I used to be."

"Maybe."

"Blond, light green eyes, looked like Frank, right?"

"I didn't know you knew him."

"I didn't."

She sat up then. "Henry, they disappeared ten years ago. How did you…"

He was still staring at the note. She couldn't read the expression on his face, but that was nothing new. He laid the note on the coffee table and turned to her.

"I'm not sure, Eileen, but – I think he was swallowed up by that town, too. Not like us…it was different. But that's where they went."

"How do you know that?"

"Before the hole opened in my bathroom, I had these nightmares, every night. People and monsters and strange things going on. I recognized some of the places in the dreams, from Silent Hill. But they were changed – very changed. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. There was one dream, though, that screwed with my head worse than the others. I'd had a lot of vodka to drink that night before I went to sleep…there was an old bottle in the kitchen left over from New Year's that I polished off."

"New Year's? Yeah, I remember. At the window, right?"

He stared at her. "You _remember_ that?"

She did. She'd been at home alone on New Year's for the first time in ages. Shortly before midnight, she ended up leaning out of the window in her front room, feeling the cold, fresh night air blow through her hair and listening to the party going on downstairs. Then, when she looked to her right, there he was, leaning out of his window with a bottle in his hand, taking a sip and staring out into the night. She'd never really gotten a good look at him before, and he didn't seem to know she was there, so she had taken her time. He wasn't bad-looking, not at all, as far as she could tell in the shadows. There was a looseness to his movements, but she guessed that the bottle might have had something to do with that.

She'd watched him for several seconds out of the corner of her eye before he saw her. He almost dropped the bottle when he did, but she smiled at him as he wiped his mouth with his hand and stared at her, glassy-eyed. She could understand that completely – she hated being alone on New Year's, too. And from what she saw and heard, he was even more alone than she was most of the time. If she were him, she'd probably be downing a few, too.

Then, the clock chimed midnight, and off-key voices singing Auld Lang Syne floated up to them. She smiled at him and whispered "Happy New Year." He grinned from ear to ear and raised his bottle to her, and they turned their gazes back to the black night.

_So long ago._

"I do," she said simply.

"Anyway, there was this guy in one of the dreams. He was a little taller than me, blond, light green eyes…looked familiar. I couldn't place him, but I felt like I'd seen his face before. But I did know his name. I don't know how I knew it, but I did. It was James." He turned and stared at the dark TV. "It wasn't until I read this note that I realized why he seemed familiar. He looked just like Frank."

Eileen sat still, unable to move.

"There were other people in the dreams, too. I didn't recognize their names, though. When I get a chance, I'm going to look through the old newspapers at the library and see if I can find out who they were."

Eileen found her voice. "You…_saw_…them? James and Mary?"

"Kind of."

"What do you mean, kind of? Henry!" She grabbed his knee. "You've got to tell Frank! He has no idea – "

"That's the problem. I'm not sure exactly what I was seeing, Eileen. I mean – the woman in the dream, the dream with James in it. She was several inches shorter than him, blonde hair, short skirt, boots…"

Eileen shook her head. "That doesn't sound like Mary at all. Maybe the right height, perhaps, but she never dressed like that. Never."

"That's the thing. This woman and James – I got the feeling that they didn't really know each other. Something weird was going on between them, but they weren't a couple. I don't think I saw Mary at all. Hell, I don't even know what happened to James. I didn't see how things ended up."

"Oh."

"So I can't tell Frank a damn thing," he said. "Even if it wasn't just a dream, and I can't prove that it wasn't. I don't know where James is now, or what he's doing, or even if he's still alive. All I know is…"

"What?"

He met her eyes. "The only thing I know for sure is that things went very, very wrong with them, and that Mary's not coming back. And that's not something he'd want to hear."


End file.
